Her Cold, Cold Heart
by Hartabound
Summary: AU, P&P Regency. 'Some hearts are not meant to be touched, others should never be broken.'
1. The Memory Of Heartaches past

_A/N: This story was initially inspired by a shocking statistic I read in a paper, 'There is a domestic violence related call made to the police in the UK every 20 seconds', well that got me thinking, if such abuse is prevalent even now, when thankfully women have greater protection and rights, what must it have been like in Regency England, where surely no such protection existed?_

_Given the above statement I 'm sure you can pretty much guess what the gist of this story will be about, though it will focus on a love affair between our favourite two P&P characters, there will be moments of extreme unpleasantness. By that I mean dark subjects and situations. If such things offend or discomfort you then please read no further than this author's note._

_If you seek to offer criticism on any part of the story please make sure it is constructive or at least witty, believe me flaming would be a damn near impossibility, I've been burnt enough times over this story to have heard just about every insult._

_Last warning, this is a story that does not contain fluffy bunnies, rainbows or skipping through wild meadows in summer. It is painfully realistic. _

**

* * *

Her Cold, Cold Heart**

_'Trapped in an arranged marriage, Lady Elizabeth Hartfield has long learned to engage merely her body and not the heart. After six years of an unfulfilling marriage, and she has earned the reputation of a cold, unfeeling women. But perhaps, a passionate affair, with Fitzwilliam Darcy, a man society has deemed beneath her, will finally teach her what it is to love…and in every sense of the word…'_

**Part 1- 'The memory of heartaches past…'**

It was a strange and tragic series of events that led to a fifteen year old Elizabeth Bennet becoming the next Lady Hartfield. It would perhaps be prudent to begin with the strange, not only because it would be correct chronologically, but because those who are found to be in floods of tears in the first few pages of a tale are often thrown far more curious glances than those who only wear a peculiar smile.

The Hartfield estate was situated in what could be described as the very setting angels would have been happy in had they been condemned to a life on Earth. Sat atop and surrounded by hills, it boasted an extensive forest, orchards of every variety and grounds amongst the finest in the merry little island of England.

The building itself was old, as ancient as the ghost that resided within its four walls, but it had refused to whither and die. Unlike other structures of its time, modernity had not caught up with Hartfield manor, its romance, its beauty and its life shone out as the brightest beacon.

It was a shame then, that its residents should be such an unpleasant lot. Or resident, for the place could not have borne a soul more repulsive or one that could have polluted its fair prospects so completely, so horrifically than Philip Hartfield. The only son of the fifteenth Earl, he was at the age of ten when the fates determined that his life would become so intricately entwined with that of Elizabeth Bennet.

He was a repulsive child; even the innocence generally associated with babe hood could not save him from the title. As soon as he could walk and articulate he was a menace, a constant heartache to his poor father, who could not, try as he might, connect with or even begin to love the child that in coming into this world had hurried his mother out of it. Lord Hartfield had never been of the resentful nature, but he had loved his young wife dearly.

Lizzy's fate of becoming linked to the misery of the place began with a tradition. Every year, the Hartfield place would hold a picnic for the residents of Longbourn, for which the residents were the principal beneficiaries. All along the grounds of the estate families would be littered, enjoying the hot July month and the food, drink and music laid on for their enjoyment. It was a date anticipated by the whole village, the one time of the year they could look forward to seeing how the wealthy spent their time. For even the lowest yeoman was on par with Lord Hartfield that day, it was a tradition started as far back as when the place was built, and it was unique.

It was at this picnic that the future was to unfold. Having been collected by one of the Hartfield carriages, another privilege for the Longbourn residents, none of them were allowed to walk to the place. The bright, five year old Lizzy was very proud of her dress and her hair, she hung on tightly to the finger of her beloved father Mr Bennet, who was equally proud of his young family.

The picnic passed off without event; in fact it went as it did every year, conventionally and delightfully. The only real unpleasantness appeared, inevitably in the form of bullying Philip Hartfield. Having made numerous other five year olds cry with his characteristic unfeeling brutishness, he turned his attentions to little Lizzy.

But he had underestimated how proud she was of her hair and dress, consequently when Philip made off with one of the ribbons pulled from her hair, rather than burst into a fit of tears like the numerous victims before her, she got up and gave chase.

It was a sight to behold, a ten year old boy being chased by a screeching five year old, who in turn was hotly pursued by her frantic mother. But Mrs Bennet could never really have the stamina to keep up with her daughter, and was left doubled up, gasping for breath and helplessly screaming for her daughter as she doggedly pursued the next Lord Hartfield. Poor woman she was sure she was going to faint.

Philip did not look where he was going; too busy looking back and laughing at the girl who chased him. He tripped over the gnarled roots of an old oak tree. Lizzy was soon atop of him, pummelling him with her little fists and demanding her ribbon. Once over the initial shock of the challenge he soon threw her off. Scowling at her, his menace was clear and he approached her slowly…

'Philip!' The stern, commanding voice soon brought him to heel. He dropped the ribbon immediately.

Lizzy eyeing her chance at an escape with her prize seized the material and scrambling to her feet, ran. She stopped only once to look back, Philip was stood with his father speaking quietly, and she shivered involuntarily. She did not like the way they both looked after her.

* * *

So much for the strange, now the tragic. Just before she turned fifteen, Lizzy lost the one man in the world whose opinion she had only truly learned to value. Mr Bennet, one day having taken his characteristic long walk across the wild countryside sat down on a rock to rest, as he suddenly began to feel light-headed and out of breath. He never got up again, the next time his body crossed the threshold of his house it was being carried. 

The young Bennet family had concerns far more reaching than merely their grief, they faced destitution. A family of five girls, the inheritance of their home had been dependant on a male heir and they had none. It was all entailed away to a man they had never met, Mr Collins. He was the son of Mr Bennet's older sister, a woman with whom a disagreement had never subsided. Mr Collins therefore had no scruples in taking the house, Mrs Bennet and her daughters were left to starve in the hedgerows.

But fate, it seemed had different plans, there was a saving grace, of sorts. Lizzy had a habit of making impressions, intentionally or otherwise, and she had certainly made one on the late Lord Hartfield. Philip's father did not long survive after the death of Mr Bennet, but he had a great deal more to decree in his will than Lizzy's father.

The night before Lizzy's marriage to Lord Philip Hartfield, she tried vainly to soothe the tears of her inconsolable older sister, Jane. They lay side by side on top of her bed. Lizzy spoke calmly, despite her heartbreak.

'People like us aren't allowed to fall in love Jane…' She smiled at her.

'People like us…?' Jane struggled to speak in between her sniffles.

Lizzy turned her head aside, 'People like us…whose fate is already written in the stars, in the heavens, and the last will and testament of strange old men like Lord Hartfield…' She turned to look at her sister again. If only Jane could stop crying, then maybe Lizzy could be allowed to grieve for herself. She pushed aside a loose strand of Jane's hair from her face, 'Never mind…my darling girl…'

'I wish it was me…' Jane moaned loudly. Lizzy suddenly gripped her hand tightly.

'No…never, not with your feeling heart Jane. Besides Lord Philip Hartfield had no choice with me…his father rested his whole fortune on his choosing me for his prospective bride. And from what I have heard, Lord Philip is not a man to be denied…' She sat up and hugged her knees close to chest. The encroaching sense of dread threatened to overwhelm her. Jane's arms were about her in a moment.

'Oh Lizzy…all the stories, what we've heard about what he is. Lizzy I'm afraid for you…'

'There is nothing else to be done, he has promised to take care of all of you, and he has already bought this place. Mama will be happy, and the girls Mary, Kitty and Lydia, they'll be happy to stay in the house. Surely that's all that matters…' Lizzy rocked herself gently.

'Lizzy, but what he is, his reputation, what will we do?' Jane looked at her with all the fear of a child.

Lizzy did her best to encourage her, even when her own heart was breaking, 'We must hope and pray Jane, that they are only just stories.'

'But…' Lizzy silenced her by suddenly hugging her close.

Jane pulled away and looked at her closely.

'Lizzy…' she resolved to speak with firmness, 'never mind my feeling heart…what of yours?'

The cold, emotionally vague look in her sister's eyes shook Jane to the core. Lizzy's reply was unforgiving.

'My heart? I think my heart died with father Jane…just as well isn't it?'

* * *

No people like Lizzy were not allowed to fall in love, but in the end the choice had been as tragically simple as all that. Accept Lord Hartfield and save herself and her family from a life of extreme poverty, or reject him… But no, there could be no rejecting; in essence then there never really was a choice. 

Both their fortunes, Lizzy's and Lord Hartfield's depended on the union, he had as much to lose as she did. So at merely fifteen years old Lizzy found herself married.

Above all things it was the innocence she lamented, the innocence lost that she mourned. It was the sentiments of a tender age, an inexperience and simplistic time only truly appreciated when one is young. The running around the garden with her sisters, the looking into shop windows in the village at all the pretty dresses one dreamt of purchasing, and the giggling, bubbling carefree laughter of naughty children.

Yes, it was all that she mourned.

But she had been thrust forward, pushed into a future not of her own making and the first few years had been the hardest. She had not been expected to take over the whole running of Hartfield estate given her young age, but she was expected to look, speak and behave as Lady Hartfield.

What could be simpler Lizzy found, all that the wealthy truly required was an air of indifference. And she had acquired indifference in measures as profuse as one who stands in the rain and is drenched by the heavens.

Her words to Jane had been more than mere effect, she had let her heart die, and it was buried along side with her father.

* * *

Six years after her marriage, and Lizzy walked along the grove deep in thought. It was unusually hot for the month of March and Lizzy was more outdoors than ever and as usual she had wondered far away from the Hartfield estate. Her feet forever subconsciously acting out what her heart always desired, to be far away from the wretched place. 

Her mind always filled with the same question, always lacked an answer. Why had old Lord Hartfield chosen to condemn her to this, married to a man who she was convinced despised her as much as she did him? But they were tied together, Philip and Lizzy, doomed to spend an eternity together, wretched and miserable because it had been decreed so.

The whole village had been abuzz at first about the prospect of one of their own going to reside in the graound house in the hills. But the furore soon died down, they all knew of Philip Hartfield's reputation, and as they lined the road and watched the young bride being driven away to the church, the men bowed their heads and the women cried. The procession might as well have been for a hearse.

Lizzy could hear their whispers even now, 'Oh poor, dear girl…and he is such a man…' She had tried hard then to shut her ears. 'She looks half-dead, white as a sheet poor girl…what would her father have made of it all…'

Philip, he had not changed. He was still an ogre in every sense of the word, now only he was a fully grown monster. His broad shoulders, hard set features and cold laugh had everyone as fearful of him as he demanded.

But it was strange, he was gentle with her. Or he had been, that first night as man and wife. He hadn't hurt her, or made her fear him. It was almost as if that man hadn't existed at all, the one of ill-repute. But still, her heart was not to be engaged, even with his gentle caresses and reassurances she had not responded, certainly not with that ardour expected between a new husband and wife. Perhaps it was for this reason the resentment between them grew until it was the only sentiment they shared.

Coldness, indifference, yes that what it meant to be wealthy. Despite the heat, the summer months coming and the summer months passed since her marriage she was forever frozen and vowed to remain so.


	2. Misgivings And Misdeeds

**Part 2- 'Misgivings and Misdeeds…'**

Lord Philip Hartfield had watched his wife leave the ground with a growing anger. She always had this affect on him, ever since their first night together as man and wife. It was a simmering rage that grew at her damned defiance…his fists clenched and he gritted his teeth.

Unbeknownst to her the answers as to why his father had tied her to him _had_ been answered. There had been a letter and he had read it. Though the discovery of it had been entirely accidental, reading every word and imprinting it on his heart and mind was not something he was sorry for.

Old Lord Hartfield had long held a deep rooted dislike of his son, watching him mature into adulthood had merely served to confirm all his suspicions. Philip was not the model child; he was profligate, ruthless and cold, cold beyond comprehension. His father's banishing him first to school and then London when his studies were done served them both well; they were free to despise each other from a distance. Lord Hartfield was happy to provide for his son's extravagances as long as he remained in town, and remained at a distance.

But Lord Hartfield became ill, age and the long sufferance of a sorely tried heart took their toll. And Philip had to come home, for all of the father's enthusiasm he might as well have been inviting the devil himself.

It was around this time that Lord Hartfield heard of the strange death of poor Mr Bennet. He remembered the name and he remembered Lizzy. Further hearing of the financial straits they found themselves in, he sought to put a plan in motion and wrote to his solicitor. As soon as he arrived he spent the whole day locked away with him in his room. No one was allowed admittance, not a single servant and certainly not Philip. But curiosity was a dreadful thing, and Philip was by no means an honourable man.

It was strange when Philip insisted taking that glass of wine to his father and on that particular night, but one look into those cold eyes and Lord Hartfield's valet knew better than to ask questions. Take the wine up to him he did, that night and many nights after that. Those of the household who wished to convince themselves that perhaps the son was finally reconciling with his father in lieu of his illness did just that. As for Lord Hartfield, he knew better and rather than hold out hopes that his son had discovered a heart, attributed the attention to the fact that his solicitor had recently visited, no doubt Philip had concerns as to the will.

But even Lord Hartfield could not know the depths to which his son would sink; yes Philip was taking his wine up to him, but with a singular intention. And yes it was to do with the will, a copy of which his father kept rather foolishly in the locked drawer beside his bed.

Lord Hartfield had always been a light sleeper, which had to change if Philip was ever going to be allowed to see the will. So, a few nights of taking the wine to his father Philip decided to add his own ingredient to the concoction. He poured a hefty dose of laudanum into the glass, not enough to kill him, but enough to ensure a deep sleep. He placed the tray as usual on the table and left. It was not long before the sound of his fathers heavy snoring could be heard through the door.

In went Philip, silent and devious as a shadow. He smiled ruefully as he reached underneath his father's pillow where he knew the key to be kept. There was no hurry; no fear, Lord Hartfield was dead to the world. The papers bound in their red ribbon sat invitingly on the top shelf, Philip wrapped his greedy fingers around them and removing the ties set about opening them. He read with a growing anger and disbelief, yes there was his name, mentioned several times, he was to inherit everything but there was a condition and Lizzy was it.

It was then he noted the letter that had been sat under the will, he reached out for it and looked at it closely. It was addressed to Elizabeth Bennet and in a hand that he recognised as being his father's.

_Miss Bennet I beg you would forgive the presumption of a feeling old man in writing to you like this and at a time like this. Please accept my whole hearted condolences for the death of your excellent father. I did not know him personally, but his having fathered a child as resolute and determined as I know you to be could only earn my respect. I have also heard something of the financial troubles you are in, and I believe I may have a solution. Though by the end of it all you may wish to curse my very name. I would not blame you if that is the case._

_My son, as it is very well known, is not the sort of man one finds one can be very proud of. I tried over the years as he was growing up, to instil in him something of the honour and responsibility his position required but I have failed miserably. His mother would have done better, had she lived, but I cannot blame my shortcomings as a parent on the sad death of my wife. I alone am to blame._

_Forgive me Miss Bennet, for the wrong I am about to do you, may God forgive me. There is only one person in the world I have known who has stood up to my son, and it was you. Though you may not remember, I have it imprinted in my mind, a memory as fresh as if it happened only yesterday._

_You were only five years old, yet you showed strength that even as a grown man I envied. For the first time I saw my son cowed. It is your eyes Miss Bennet; they shine with a glow, an ember of a fire that refuses to die. They showed him then that you were not afraid of him, and rather he had reason to fear you. I saw it in him…that defiance about you, he is afraid of it._

_I offer you the chance to save your family Miss Bennet, though in doing so you may be condemning yourself. I must beg your forgiveness once more. I give you all the wealth Hartfield Estate affords, but there is a condition. You must marry my son, and soon. The will is adamant in this, if either of you refuse you will receive nothing, Philip loses Hartfield and you, well you lose everything._

_However much you wish to curse me on the receipt of this letter Miss Bennet, I assure you it is nothing compared to the words with which I have cursed myself. I know with this action I am condemned, and I can only pray Providence finds a way to cleanse my soul and that in time you may find it in your heart to forgive me._

___Lord Hartfield _

So absorbed in reading the letter was he that Philip failed to notice the stirrings of his father awakening. It was only when the old man gripped his arm in a tight grasp that he realised that he had perhaps not used enough laudanum. But despite being caught in the most disgraceful act of deceit, the look in Philip's eyes assured Lord Hartfield that it was rather he who had something to fear. 'What are you doing…?' he looked feebly towards the letter, and his eyes widened in horror at the prospect of what his son had read. But his speech was slurred, and his grip on Philips arm was weakening, evidence that the drug was still having some effect.

Philip looked grimly at his father and shook the letter angrily at him, 'Afraid of her? I am not afraid of any woman…!' But the way his voice shook betrayed the fact that maybe he was.

Despite the growing fear and terror within him Lord Hartfield managed a weak smile. It only served to anger Philip more. He drew himself near to his father, and bringing his lips close to his father's ear whispered to him, 'Listen to me old man; if you think this Elizabeth Bennet will ever cow me…you're wrong. I will break her…her spirit, her defiance and her fine fiery eyes; in fact I will take pleasure in doing so…' He gripped his frail father roughly by the collars of his night shirt,

'Change it, change the will and save yourself and her…' he spat the words angrily.

Lord Hartfield merely shook his head resolutely, .

'There is already a copy with the lawyer, if you want this place…if you wish to live in the riches you have become accustomed to you must marry her…' Lord Hartfield surveying the despairing look crossing his son's face could not help but let out a low chuckle.

It cost Philip all composure, letting out a low scream of frustration he suddenly grabbed the pillow lying under his father's head and pressed it over the old man's face. Even if Lord Hartfield still had all his strength, the effect of the laudanum would have still meant he would have put up a poorer fight than he was doing at present.

It took precious little time for Philip to suffocate his father, and when it was done he calmly replaced the pillow beneath his head. The will was put back where it was found, but the letter, well that was for his eyes alone. Gripping it tightly, he replaced it in its envelope and making sure he left no clues as to his presence quietly made his way to the door. He stopped and looking back at his father, was suddenly arrested by a crude moment of tenderness. He went back and lightly bestowed a kiss on his father's cheek. It was unfortunate, he thought seeing him lying there lifeless, but…

Philip shrugging his shoulders in quiet dismissal, quietly slipped out of the room having ascertained there were no servants to observe him.

* * *

No, Philips father did not survive long after the demise of Lizzy's, though few suspected the hand Lord Hartfield's son had in hurrying him out of this world. Perhaps some of the servants may have had their suspicions but making such an accusation against one of the most feared and reviled men in England was hardly the way to ensure a happy future. So silent they stayed, and chose instead to live with their guilt and prickling consciousness'. 

The old man had not lied, there was indeed a copy of the will with the solicitor, and if Philip was to inherit he had to follow its instructions to the latter, he had to marry Elizabeth Bennet.

In all truth, the prospect was not so very odious to him; he also had a remembrance of young Lizzy Bennet. He had not forgotten the girl who had so boldly chased him to reclaim her ribbon. And he had seen her of late once or twice in the village, with her older sister. His father had been right, there was something about her…and it was in those eyes. She may not have been as conventionally pretty as Jane Bennet, but my God, something about those eyes, the luminosity, the challenge, and the defiance in them was thrilling. They stopped a man in his tracks, a single look, a flutter of those pretty fine eye lashes and a lesser man, more feeling than he, would have committed to her the world.

But he was not feeling, his admiration of those eyes and his pleasure on beholding them rested sorely in the prospect of dimming that light, and extinguishing that fire.

Now six years later, and stood in the window watching her leave for her usual morning walk, he realised he had underestimated how far and how deep that fire burned.Everything elseabout her was cold, indifferent and lethargic, but that light…it shone as bright as the day he had married her.

Though he would never admit to himself, Philip with all the passion an emotionally crippled man like he could muster had fallen in love with his young bride. Her beauty, pale and with raven black hair as she stood next to him in church had left him shaking; she stood resolutely and betrayed nothing of that fear a fifteen year old must feel reading and reciting vows her heart would be reviling and rebelling against. She had spoken steadily, assuredly and utterly without emotion.

Their first night, though by no means the first time Philip had known a woman intimately, it was the first time he had felt anything beyond a depraved lust…and staring into those eyes, he was a man ready to commit to her the world. But, in that moment she was frozen, for all his kisses, caresses she had offered him nothing in return. He had shown his weakness for her, and she had merely shut her eyes against him and the world, and seemed to be praying to be a thousand miles away.

His resolve to break her may have faltered for a moment, had she only offered him something, anything, a mere hint that she was not entirely indifferent to him, and his vow to extinguish that light he would gladly have put away. But she gave him nothing… and he realised he had eaten his heart out, the black withered thing that it was, for nothing.

For that, she had to suffer, and God knows over the past six years he had made her do just that.

* * *

Lizzy looked up suddenly and realised just how far she had walked and where to. She was standing outside her home, that darling house she had sacrificed so much to keep for her family. The heart always brings you back, to that place where times were happiest and you felt the safest, she sighed deeply and felt the relief of a small child...here she was, returned to her true home at last. 

Familiar sounds wafted over to her and she smiled, Mary on the pianoforte, playing ill as usual. Lydia and Kitty apparently squabbling over a bonnet and Jane, darling Jane, forever acting as the peace maker between them. In times past she might perhaps have also heard the shrill tones of her mother, Mrs Bennet lamenting that all their noise was doing nothing for her poor nerves. But not now, the pain and suffering of a child is never felt more acutely than by a parent, and Mrs Bennet felt for poor Lizzy.

Though she had never been her favourite child, even her heart broke when she saw her wed off to that cold-hearted man. They had never spoken of it, such pain and loss is not wanton or readily put into words. The feelings deepest to us are expressed with the most difficulty to a parent. Lizzy could easily see how it affected her; she was not the same, not truly. Where they could have spoken about the miserable state she was in, Lizzy found to her relief that both her mother and herself found solace in talking about nothing at all. That was easier, expressions regarding pretty dresses, fine lace anything of any degree of inanity was better…better than admitting heartache and sorrow.

It was Jane's prospects of love and impending felicity that occupied them of late. A new suitor, handsome and wealthy had recently taken a house in the neighbourhood, the estate of Netherfield. He had shown more than a fair interest in Jane, and who could be surprised when she was easily five times prettier than any woman within miles.

Falling in love suited Jane, a characteristic blush, an added lustre to the eyes, a smile that would outshine the sun and Lizzy was convinced her sister was very much on the verge of losing her heart to the fortunate Mr Bingley.

Of him she had yet to form an opinion, they had met only a few times, but Lizzy had to admit she had not been impressed. His resolution was weak, he was uniquely shy and withdrawn and his speech was hardly convincing. She doubted if he could make a decision from one day to the next.

But she would wait; Jane valued her opinion she knew, so her judgement of Bingley would have to wait. She was determined to know the state of his heart before she would ever recommend Jane to accept him.

Time always passed remarkably swiftly when one willed it to do otherwise. Lizzy acutely aware of the seconds, minutes and hours passing knew she had to leave this sanctuary. It broke all their hearts, every time Lizzy left, it was as painful as when she had to leave for the church that dreadful morning aged only fifteen.


	3. Cherry Tree Charms

**Part 3-'Cherry Tree Charms …'**

The true Englishman knows the English weather is notoriously unpredictable, so when the sky of the unusually warm month of March turned just as swiftly into a dark mass of pouring rain, Lizzy, a true Englishwoman, knew just when and where to take shelter. Her walk back to the Hartfield Estate took her past a neglected field of wild grass, flowers and a cherry tree of the most unusual history.

The tree was notorious in Longbourn village, not merely because it stood alone in the centre of a field, the only such landmark for miles around, but because though the blossom was the prettiest, the fruit the tree produced was also the bitterest. Just as well, had it been any different no doubt the villagers would have stripped the branches within a matter of hours. As it was the tree was left entirely alone. Why the fruit was so inedible was a tale within itself, oft told by the village women. Apparently many years ago, a lovelorn farmer had planted the seed cursing it with tears of bitterness as his sweetheart had rejected him and married another, a man of greater wealth. It seemed the soil had taken the farmers words to the very depths, and produced from the seed a pretty thing but with a poisonous taste, no doubt the way he had described the girl who had so cruelly spurned him.

But that was hundreds of years ago, and Lizzy had no doubt the tale of a bitter romance had taken on many embellishments since then. She loved the tree, its gnarled bark and the heavenly scent of its pretty pink petals. The patter of rain through its heavy set branches soothed, and Lizzy gladly removed her bonnet and shook out her curls to hear the sound better. Many a time had she rested by this tree, lying down at the roots and studying the sky, making shapes out of the clouds and watching the day idly float by. Perhaps not the dignified habits of a Lady Hartfield but the tall, neglected grass provided ample disguise from prying eyes, and Lady Hartfield for a few hours a day was allowed to be Elizabeth Bennet again.

Today however she was not alone; her sanctuary beneath the bitter cherry tree had been borrowed. Even as she leaned heavily against its trunk and wiped the moisture from her neck and brow, a face peered around and eyed her with some curiosity.

Lizzy jumped back startled, and met the gentleman's gaze boldly, he appeared to be equally indignant at finding her there. She grew angry, if anyone had the right to be annoyed it was her, she knew all the village inhabitants by face or name, this man was certainly a stranger to Longbourn, and he was encroaching on her space. Lizzy did not speak but surveyed him with a growing amusement; he was a gentleman there was no doubt of that.

But certainly not a gentleman who stood on ceremony, he was cravat less and his shirt was open, and drenched from head to foot. He quickly discerned her to be put out, and not wishing to anger the first soul he had come across since his arrival that morning, attempted to placate her. He was tall and handsome with a smile that was disarming. He carried his coat draped over his arm, and proceeded to replace his hat on his head at a coquettish angle.

It would have been disarming to any other lady than Lizzy; she merely looked away and blushed for him. He did not take the hint, and stared at her with an intensity Lizzy found unnerving. She turned to face him. 'Do you always stare so impertinently at a lady sir?' She demanded sternly.

'No…not always.' He was growing angry as well, his attempts at reconciliation were getting him no where. He spoke in all seriousness, 'I do not stare impertinently at women, that is I am certainly not in the habit of doing so, only I have never met a lady who upbraided a stranger so completely merely for having made the mistake of taking shelter under a tree from the rain.' he straightened his hat, and smiled no more.

Lizzy raised an eyebrow, 'Upbraid you sir? And pray tell how I do that?'

He stepped closer, 'With a flash of those brilliant eyes…' he spoke low and Lizzy instinctively looked away.

'Do you mean to flatter me sir, or mock me?' She was trembling, the unnerving effect this man was having on her could not be mistaken.

'Oh, by all means to flatter you.' Just then as he breathed those words, the sun appeared from a break in the clouds. The rain stopped and as the warm rays hit them both, the cherry tree and those two who stood closely together underneath were bathed in a bright glow. The sudden silence appeared endless, until Lizzy released the breath she had been holding. She stepped back and save one last look with her upbraiding eyes at the gentleman who stood there still, turned her feet in the direction of Hartfield.

* * *

She was still thinking of him when she did eventually make it back to the estate. But then the sight of her marital home soon overcame thoughts of pleasant encounters with those of a more urgent and disagreeable nature. She headed for the West wing of the house, where it was the least likely she would have to see her husband. 

It was then as she passed the stables that she heard the noises coming from one of the barns, a low mewling, the sound of pain and scrabbling, as if some creature was hell bent on making a desperate escape. There was no one around, that was strange in itself, though the groomsman may have been exercising the horses a few of the stable boys ought to have been present.

Lizzy first thought about ignoring it, but she could not shake the feeling that something was not right, all was not well. She decided with the best intentions and the deepest reluctance to investigate. Her heart beat faster as she made her way towards the sounds which grew louder now and gathered in urgency.

What she found shook her to the core and made her head ache. So much for avoiding her husband, there he was in that barn clearly forcing himself on her maid, Sarah. She now understood why no one was conveniently present; no doubt he had sent them all away, for this very purpose. The poor girl was rightly terrified, her dress was torn at the shoulder and she was vainly trying to hold the flimsy material up in order to save herself from further exposure.

But it was the trickle of blood emanating from her temple and trailing down her face that burned at Lizzy's heart. She spied the riding crop in Philip's hand, and despite her growing fear and desire to escape, Lizzy stepped boldly into the building and approached Sarah.

She smiled sadly at her and tried vainly to offer meagre comfort, 'Sarah, go inside…' she pressed her arms reassuringly, 'go to your room and lock the door behind you'  
Sarah, despite what she had suffered loved her mistress dearly and vainly wished to save her as well. But Lizzy was adamant, 'Go Sarah, now and quickly'  
Sarah obeyed. Lizzy bit her lip and turned to face her husband, he clearly relished the opportunity to attempt once more to extinguish that fire in her eyes.

Lizzy bore that beating that was meant for her maid. Though it could not have lasted more than an hour every stroke and every second seemed an eternity. His strikes with that riding crop were hard across her back, stroke after stroke tore her dress and bit into her flesh, she could feel the sting as the skin opened up. The perverse sensation of the warm blood trickling down her bare back made her shudder. But not a sound escaped her; she would not give him that satisfaction of hearing her cry.

When he was through beating her, he turned her around to look into her eyes. The fire was still there, those accusing eyes looking back at him, unbowed and unafraid. He was not surprised; this was not the first time he had laid a hand on her.

He raped her; on that dirty floor he forced her down and forced himself on her. Even that she bore with a stoicism that would have been commendable had it not infuriated him all the more.

* * *

Sarah sobbed as she applied the lavender water to Lizzy's wounds, she dabbed the towel lightly on the gashes and winced in pain every time Lizzy did. The cuts had gone deep and not only on Lizzy's back. 

'Stop crying Sarah…' Lizzy demanded, the poor girl attempted to stifle her sobs, but it was all in vain. Lizzy lay face down on her bed, naked from the waist up. She had stumbled into the house and was helped up to her room by Sarah, who had disobeyed her order to go to her room and lock herself in.

'Did you go out to see David?' Lizzy knew Sarah had a sweetheart in the household staff, she guessed it to be one of the stable boys, and David was the only one nearest to Sarah's age.

'Yes…Oh miss, please forgive me…' Sarah descended into sobs once more.

'David didn't try to help you?' Lizzy pressed her for an answer.

'No…he doesn't know, Lord Hartfield sent him on an errand earlier, he has not returned yet…'

Lizzy smiled grimly at the furtive resourcefulness of her cunning husband, he had gotten the sweetheart out of the way on purpose.

Sarah suddenly gripped Lizzy's arm tightly, 'But I dread David finding out, I pray he never does, for Miss, he has such a temper, I dread what he will do…'

'You needn't worry Sarah.' No, this was not something Lizzy was ready to let the world hear about.

Her bedroom door opened and both ladies shook at the sight of Philip. He regarded Sarah with a menace, 'Get out! And leave the water!' He took the bowl from her as she scurried out of the room.

Lizzy sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed; she reached out for a towel and held it over her bare front. Her nakedness in front of this man was something to be ashamed of, she already felt weak and to be so exposed was a further indignity she was not willing to suffer. She sat with her back facing him; he climbed on the bed and sat behind her. Placing the bowl at his side, he gently pushed her hair over one shoulder, and took over the task Sarah had been at. Rinsing the cloth in the water he gently dabbed at her wounds, he had a touch as soft as Sarah's had been. As the cloth brushed against a particularly sore spot she winced.

He stopped, and gently leaning towards her kissed the wound. Lizzy cringed at his touch, but this perverse habit of gentleness, of reverent meekness after an action so violent and brutal was not something new. She had witnessed these miserable displays of affection before; he would hurt her and then appear sorry for it. It seemed he was torn between making her suffer and then taking it upon himself to be the relief for the suffering he had caused. It was something, another thing Lizzy had learnt to live with, had come to expect almost.

He continued with his remedying once more, and in between wringing out the cloth whispered to her.

'We can't have my Lizzy at all uncomfortable, not when the Hartfield ball is tonight. You'll have to wear that new gown I bought you, it's particularly tight around the back.' He kissed her back once more, before getting up to leave.

She didn't move, not an inch.

* * *

Sarah and Lizzy had a particular bond; they had both arrived newly to Hartfield at the same time. Lizzy as the mistress and Sarah as her maid, they were close both in age and everything else. Lizzy admired Sarah's simplicity, her truth and gentleness and Sarah found a woman to be both wondered at and pitied in Lizzy. With Jane not always at hand, Lizzy found Sarah a willing substitute, someone to listen and be listened to. 

The dress Philip had bought her was tight, and it had been a struggle to fight back the tears as the tightness of the dress crushed her ribs and chaffed against her sore back. Now, as Sarah was attaching the finishing touches of flowers to her hair, despite how well and how fine she looked in the expensive gown, Lizzy longed to be in those simple muslin dresses she had been used to wear.

The ball had been planned long in advance, and though Lizzy had no desire to be surrounded with rooms full of Philip's acquaintances at least Jane and Mama and the rest of the family would be there. That, at least was something to look forward to. She nodded and smiled at Sarah, whose eyes were still rimmed red and moist with tears. Lizzy's crying had long been done.


	4. Assumptions And Assertions

_A/N: A succint reversal of fortunes and backgrounds for our favourite fictional couple, but they're still as proud and prejudiced as ever._

**Part 4- 'Assumptions and Assertions…'**

The will stipulated that Philip would receive nothing if his wife died in anything other than natural circumstances, thus he hurt only enough to make her bleed or bruise, nothing to cause serious injury.

But he could not forget his father's words, that he was afraid of her, the letter he had kept was hidden for that very purpose, he could not allow her to have any more power over him.

The fire in her eyes, that endless resistance and still he was falling more in love with her every day, and though it was a poor kind of love, it was more than he had ever shown or felt. But she would not give in, if only she would give him something, anything…but that coldness, it burned, more than any disdain she could have pored on him, that endless hate…and that damned fire. Lady Elizabeth Hartfield or his Lady Lizzy as he sometimes called her, knew what it was to cause to pain, though she may not have used her fists like he, she knew what it was to cut to the very core.

* * *

'Bingley I believe this is the most nervous I've ever seen you…one would think you were going to the guillotine and not a ball…' Darcy laughed at the way his friend tugged at his cravat and sleeves. 

They bounded along in the carriage, and Darcy found it hard to discern if it was the motion making Bingley look ill, or the prospect of his meeting Jane Bennet's sister again, Lady Elizabeth Hartfield.

Darcy had quitted the shelter under the cherry tree that morning soon after his pretty companion. Try as he might, he could not shake thoughts of that woman, it was those eyes. He had considered asking Bingley if he knew anything of her, but soon realised he would have a poor description to give to his friend. What did he know of her accept that she was so very breathtakingly beautiful?

Besides, Bingley had more to preoccupy him than playing detective and perhaps even matchmaker. He had surprised Darcy by extending an invitation for himself and his sister Georgiana to join him at Netherfield. They were the fastest of friends; largely in part to their father's whose businesses had rendered them much in each others company, even as young boys. Bingley's joy at Darcy's arrival that morning had been as genuine as it was warm.

'This Lady Hartfield must be a formidable creature indeed if she has got you in such a state…' Darcy raised an eyebrow at his friend curiously.

Bingley took a deep breath to compose himself, and avowed to stop fidgeting. 'Darcy, I don't mind telling you that I have come to have a genuine, deep regard for Jane Bennet. I tell you she is an angel…and in every sense of the word, her sweetness and gentleness…' Bingley would no doubt have continued extolling Jane's virtues had not Darcy interrupted him.

'And I take it she is not indifferent to you. If that is the case why must the sister's opinion be one you should value and take such obvious pains to court?'

Bingley sighed, 'Because Lady Elizabeth Hartfield's opinion is taken into much consideration by Miss Bennet, and if her Ladyship is indifferent to me I'm afraid she will take steps to ensure her sister feels the same.'

Darcy grew disconcerted; he had heard nothing of this Lady Hartfield that appealed to him, it seemed strange to him that she could exert such an influence over a sister who was older. From what Bingley had told him of her, Darcy, though he would never say it out aloud, held little hopes for Bingley's success.

The thought of the pain his friend would no doubt have to endure, if the worst happened and Jane Bennet rejected him, made him angry and defensive.

'Bingley, though you are my friend, and some would no doubt consider me to be prejudiced on your behalf, but in all honesty…for the life of me I cannot see what her objections would be.…'

Bingley looked puzzled; Darcy explained further, 'Given her sister's lack of any material wealth, I do not doubt Jane Bennet's charms of course, but the girl has little to offer in respects of a dowry so Lady Hartfield could not consider you a fortune hunter. Rather, given your yearly income, the match is entirely beneficial to the Bennet's. Bingley, I can think of only one reason why her Ladyship should object….'

Bingley begged that Darcy tell him, so he could attend to it immediately.

Darcy shook his head sadly, 'I'm sorry to say Bingley it is something you can do little to remedy. You forget perhaps that Lady Hartfield is landed gentry, be it through marriage, though I have found them to be the worst kind. Her only objections may lie in how your wealth has been obtained, she objects no doubt to the fact that you are in trade.…'

Bingley looked at him amazed, 'Darcy I cannot believe that. Lady Hartfield is cold and indifferent at times, but from what Jane has related to me of her, I cannot believe that she would be capable of such petty snobbery…'

Darcy shrugged his shoulders, 'Believe what you will Bingley and choose an explanation that offers you the most comfort, but _I_ have no doubt. Lords and ladies generally have the worst sort of pride, more often than not it is ceremony without substance…'

'It is very well my brother has no prejudices is it not Mr Bingley…? He passes judgement on poor Lady Hartfield as if he knew her very well, and if her crime is pride Darcybrother, your's of prejudice against her is one of equal flaw...'

Darcy turned to look at his sister who had hitherto stayed silent, though only eighteen Georgiana often portrayed a wisely worldly sense beyond her short years. Her avid reading no doubt was the cause of that.

She flashed a brilliant smile at both, 'For brother I have heard you accuse her of no greater offence than having the good sense to marry into money, and if that be the case, you must tar half the women of England with the same brush and be prepared to condemn them all…'

* * *

Ceremony without substance indeed, though Darcy entered the Hartfield ballroom with expectations no greater than these, he had not by any means expected to come across the mysterious girl under the tree. He had certainly not expected her to be the hostess. And he hated the fact that the girl had turned out to be a Lady Hartfield. 

Lady Elizabeth Hartfield apart from a brief flash in her brilliant eyes when Bingley introduced him betrayed no sign of their having met already. She greeted him as indifferently as she did any of the other guests; there was neither a word nor a hint to mark him out. Darcy although he could not have expected any different was disappointed, not least due to the fact she was married.

Darcy may have seen nothing to satisfy in Lizzy's non recognition of him, but Philip did. He had spent a lifetime studying those eyes, for him the slightest flicker carried significance, she had taken pains to hide it but her interest was piqued by the arrival of Mr Darcy. If Philip needed further proof, it was in the way her eyes constantly flitted over to Darcy's side of the room. However he had done it, Mr Darcy had ignited something in his wife, and for that premise alone Philip was disposed to loathe him.

But it was Georgiana; the pretty young thing that she was that soon attracted the attention of the room. She had innocence about her that far from being the false modesty so often noted in other pretty young things was as genuine as her smile. She was clearly impressed by Hartfield, and looked around her with an awe that showed she was little used to grand houses and estates.

Mr Darcy it was rumoured had fallen on hard times, the son of a tradesman, his father had owned one of the most successful mills and had been one of those who had built on the growing Industrial Revolution. The siblings had grown up in Lancashire, the heart of the sudden burst of wealth the Revolution had brought with it. Neither had truly encountered open spaces and grand houses, they had lived virtually all their life in the perpetual smoke, dust and noise of an overflowing city.

Fresh air, daylight and green rolling hills were strange and wonderful to the innocent but delighted Georgiana. Darcy was infinitely more judicious, he refused to be so easily impressed, determined that it was only the people who made a place what it was and not the geography.

Darcy had received the best schooling; precisely the sort his father thought would be needed by a man who was to inherit the running of the family business. But the son had returned to find that his views did not always run concurrent with that of his father's. He consented to run the mill with his father, and though the place prospered all was not well.

The workers were threatening a strike; they demanded better pay in accordance with the work they were doing, better pay and better working conditions.

Darcy, almost being a child of one kind of revolution himself was a firm believer in the dictum of the French Revolutionists, 'Liberté, fraternité, égalité'… 'Liberty, Fraternity, Equality'. His father would have been horrified to know Darcy had met and become close friends with a group of French philosophers, and had even become intimate with a young French woman.

He had with those stirring words in mind pored over the finances of the Darcy Mill for the best part of a day and night. His conclusions that the industry was doing well enough for them to be able to offer the choice, and the family wealth was enough to offer the reforms the workers demanded was not met with the enthusiasm he had hoped.

His father had changed; no longer was he the man who remembered his humble beginnings on the shop floor, better health, better pay and conditions for the workers was not his concern. He had become too embroiled in his own self-worth to think to help with the betterment of others.

Darcy's pleas fell on deaf ears. Consequently in that dreadful winter, Darcy Mill was a potential tinder-box and only needed the slightest spark for the place to explode. The inevitable happened when a worker died in a terrible accident, and the place blew up in a blinding fury of anger, dissolution and violence. Riots engulfed the whole mill, and in a fit of rage the mob set fire to the mill and the surrounding buildings where the Darcy family resided. Darcy and his sister escaped with their lives, forced to look on as both their mother and father perished in the flames.

Darcy's inheritance burned to the ground, his future and his livelihood were no more. Nearly all their savings were invested in that mill. Darcy and Georgiana were forced to rely on the kindness of friends to ensure they did not starve. It was a humiliating prospect for the young man who had anticipated so much and dreamt of doing much with the business his father had worked so hard to build. Now, he was poor again.

Darcy by all means, effects land essentials was now working for Bingley. Though he was by no means deficient himself in good sense and business matters, Bingley found Darcy's superior head for figures to be indispensable.

Where they were once equal Darcy had now to accept a wage from his best friend, however much and whichever way they both tried to gloss over the fact, the reality remained and there it was. Where once they were equals, or at one point where Darcy once had the greater wealth, now he had the degradation of being an employee and having his closest friend as the his employer. Both Darcy's and Georgiana's future lay in perpetual doubt.

But all this, all the suffering and worry had done nothing to dent Darcy's enthusiasm, he never lost his ideal and passion for revolution for the masses and now was almost as infamous for his speeches on the subject as he was for his misfortune.

Darcy had relied on the kindness of friends and acquaintances after the tragedy they had suffered, but apart from Bingley no help had been forthcoming especially from the quarters Darcy had expected help to be most readily available to be given. The wealthy had disappeared as silent shadows in the night, almost as soon as his father had perished in the flames, and as the extent of the financial loss had become known, the wealthy persons his father had worked so hard to court, disappeared as quickly as the mill had burnt down.

If he had not loathed them for their wasteful opulence and disparity before, he hated them now with an added and unequivocal zeal.

And he hated the fact that the girl under the tree had turned out to be a Lady Hartfield.

But all this, all the suffering and worry had done nothing to dent Darcy's enthusiasm, he never lost his ideal and passion for revolution for the masses and now was almost as infamous for his speeches on the subject as he was for his misfortune.

* * *

Lizzy walked around the room, wholly engrossed in the pleasure of watching Jane dance with Mr Bingley. Not all her family were present at the ball, Mrs Bennet had shied away on account of her nerves and Mary had stayed behind to attend to her, firmly choosing to reiterate her belief that she infinitely preferred a good book to a ball. But Lydia and Kitty were here and with their liveliness were proving a stark contrast to the hostess, their sister Lizzy. 

Lady Hartfield was vainly trying to avoid talking to the fashionably dressed but remarkably dull gathered gentility. She found it frustrating, the more she took pains to avoid society, the more they insisted on courting her. The time they had spent in London rendered Lord Hartfield being declared to be the envy of every man, not least because young men sought to fall in love with Lizzy and the older fell in lust.

Her beauty and youth went a long way to make up for her indifference and coldness, those who admired her fine figure found their envy of Lord Hartfield stemmed from the mistaken belief that her cold exterior hid a passionate being who reserved her ardour for her husband behind closed doors and behind the closed door of the bedroom chamber. In fact her aloofness became as celebrated as her other charms.

She found herself stood next to Darcy and at first it appeared as both had nothing to say. But Lizzy believing her companions silence was merely the result of being embarrassed took pity on him.

'Your sister dances very well Mr Darcy…she is fast becoming a favourite' she remarked as Georgiana made her way down the line, 'Her feet must be naturally light as I suppose you have had little opportunity to take such leisurely pursuits, the business of a mill city I find renders one little opportunity for dance …'

Darcy found himself at once angry, frustrated and hopelessly in love with her. But his jealousy over the fact she had a husband overshadowed any other sentiment.

He spoke with an air that betrayed his hurt.

'And no doubt you think the less of us for it…' he turned to face her, 'you are I suppose undoubtedly one of those of the opinion that dancing is the epitome of a civilised world and the very essence of a polished society.…'

She smiled unbowed, amused almost. 'Not at all Mr Darcy, dancing can be the epitome of an equally uncivilised world, and no doubt the essence of an unpolished society as well. Any savage can dance.…'

Darcy with all the resolve he had taken not to allow his heart to be touched further by her could not help but soften at her playful tone. 'And is that why you are taking such pains to avoid partaking in the sport…?' he asked her.

She smiled wider now, 'No not at all. I have yet to find a partner Mr Darcy who will tolerate a perpetual silence for a whole half-hour together.…'

'Do you insist then on the absence of speech as a rule then during dancing…?' She was teasing him he knew, he had barely spoken a few words to the entire room within the hours he had been there. No doubt she was alluding to this.

'Oh of course, I am certain I will never find a partner with a similar turn of mind as myself, for I am of an unsocial, taciturn disposition and am unwilling to speak, unless I say something that will amaze the whole room and be passed down with all the reverence and éclat of a proverb. Partners I find are eternally occupied with dancing the figures and counting the turns…'

Darcy laughed wholeheartedly, 'You are quite right Lady Hartfield, and you have doomed yourself to standing on the sidelines, forever confined to looking on…though I cannot help but suspect you are attempting to draw similarities between our characters…'

She looked at him mischievously, 'And I equally have little doubt of my success…' They stood together in silence, he had at one point entertained the notion of asking her to dance, but the moment had passed and he was content to observe and scrutinise as she did.

She turned to look at him again. 'I understand Mr Darcy that you are perceived to be the product of one revolution and the firm advocate of another?…'

His look of amazement amused her, 'Oh come Mr Darcy you cannot be so very amazed at my knowing so much about you…?'

He was shocked, especially considering he knew next to nothing about her. She smiled at him broadly, 'Well I see that you are. A dance such as this is the world passing at a remarkably fast pace Mr Darcy, the whole room knows everything worth knowing within minutes, the rate at which whispers pass through would no doubt leave you breathless. Here your past is forever ahead of you; in fact it sets its foot in the door before you…'

Darcy looked about the room and wondered at how he cold have been so oblivious to the whispers Lady Hartfield insisted were so ubiquitous.

She continued, 'The fact is yet more prevalent in a small neighbourhood such as Longbourn, I am afraid you will find yourself very much public property.'

He looked at her directly, 'I cannot say that is a prospect I relish Lady Hartfield…' he noted with some surprise how the use of her official title caused her to bristle and perhaps even shrink a little.

But she seemed to shake off any severity, and throwing her head back in a artistic flourish declared in her best French accent, "Liberty, Fraternity, Equality", and then in a more serious tone, 'the foundation from which the French Revolution was founded I believe?…'

He nodded his head resolutely, 'Yes, they are noble prospects and the sound basis for society.…'

Lizzy raised a brow archly, 'The sound basis indeed, the same sort of soundness that has led to numerous families, men women and children being led to their death for no other crime than having the misfortune of inheriting a family name…'

Darcy grew puzzled; he had been used to being challenged on his political view, but never by so fair an antagonist. For some reason Lady Hartfield was determined to engage him in an argument.

'I may be an advocate of the Revolution your Ladyship, but certainly not of 'The Terror'. The basis was correct, and initially the reasoning sound, but of late the foundation has been ignored. Yes I do believe the beginning was correct, and held out new promises for the betterment and to the advantage of us all, but its application has become lost, wayward…'

'And deadly.…' Lizzy finished for him. 'Napoleon I do not doubt set out with the best of intentions, that of saving a nation and its people from themselves, but what is to be done when the man, the very ideal itself becomes the tyrant, the oppressor. The very thing that ties up its people in chains they have fought so bitterly and spilled so much blood to break…'

Darcy looked on mouth agape as she spoke; it was with such passion and conviction, that any objection he could have offered was soon lost in his growing admiration and…love. Oh yes, he was in love with Lady Elizabeth Hartfield, she need not have spoken a word, he would have come to the same conclusion had she stood silently next to him. He was glad she hadn't, and he listened with an intensity she was apparently oblivious to.

'But could we truly have been surprised that he has declared himself Emperor? He is after all a man, as weak to the prospect and desire of power, and as fallible to its corruption. All men are prone to it, it is intrinsic to their natures no doubt, that desire to be in control, be it one life or the lives of thousands …'

Darcy studying her closely could not miss the unmistakable glance she threw her husband upon these words, nor could he mistake the very pointed manner in which Lord Hartfield raised his glass and smiled at her knowingly.

Lizzy turned to look at Darcy, 'Yyou are surprised by my words no doubt?…' But no amount of smiles could warm Darcy to her now. He had noted the look shared between husband and wife and suspected he knew the very meaning of it. He suspected there was some game between them, and it was exactly the perverse hobby he should have expected of the rich. He was of the firm belief that Lady Hartfield had merely engaged his attentions in an effort to sport with her husband and make him jealous. She was using him, and he cursed his stupidity for letting it happen. To think that she had almost changed his opinion of what the wealthy truly were.

Despite his rage, he resolved to speak calmly, 'Not at all Lady Hartfield, I have found the greater surprise to be in what you do not say, rather than what you do…'

She was intrigued, 'Oh and what do I not say?…'

Darcy leaned in close and spoke low, 'You ought to have told me who you were this morning…'

Lizzy smiled and wondered how he had managed to restrain himself so long from talking of their short tête-à-tête underneath the cherry tree.

'Would you have spoken differently to me if you knew who I was…?' she challenged him.

Darcy spoke hurriedly, despite his efforts he could not help but be affected in every way by this woman. 'Of course,…' he whispered, 'I would never have presumed to…'

Lizzy was ready with her retort, 'Really…? Despite all your fine, fiery speeches on "Liberty, Fraternity, Equality" you would have treated me differently if you had known of my title…? You do not sell yourself well Mr Darcy with such an interchangeable resolve.…'

Darcy grew angry; it was not he feigning an interest in another with purely the intention of stirring feelings of jealousy in a spouse. He spat his next words at her.

'You mean to make sport of me and my beliefs Lady Hartfield; no doubt they sit uncomfortably with your kind…' And with that he walked off.

All noted the cold manner in which Darcy left Lady Hartfield, but none with a greater interest than Lord Hartfield.

He approached her soon after, and standing next to her deliberately pressed a hand to her back where he knew he had hurt her earlier in the day. She felt one of the cuts open up again, and small trickles of blood find their way down the small of her back.

He spoke with a triumphant tone, 'I hear our Revolutionary Mr Darcy is not quite taken with you. Scandalous…and to think you are by far the prettiest woman in the room…' he whispered the words in her ear. She could smell the wine on his breath.

'Still…' he continued, 'the sister holds out better promise…' Lizzy followed his gaze and grew alarmed at the way he fixed it on Georgiana Darcy. She had known him long enough to know how his perverse mind worked. He had no doubt already had designs in mind for the poor girl.

She tried vainly to dissuade him, 'Though I am aware of how young you prefer your 'companions' your Lordship, I fear you will find Miss Darcy not so easily persuaded. No doubt she guards her honour with a jealousy you have not apprehended…'

'We shall see…' he spoke ominously, and Lizzy grew afraid, not only for Georgiana but for her brother as well.


	5. A Life Of Servitude

**Part 5- 'A life of servitude…'**

There were days when the head and the heart were too tired, days when Lizzy was too tired. And those were the days; those were the nights when sleep came easy. But she never dreamt, in fact she could she could not recall the last time she had dreamt since her father had died.

And she was glad for it, dreams were destructive. Those who chose to live by them and within them were idealists and idiots, for the constant comfort of a dream can never be truth. The waking up from them to cold disappointment and reality was a heartache that could only grow, until one wished to never wake up at all.

Yesterday had been one of those days, the night after the ball she had felt so tired, her head, her heart and even her limbs ached. She had gone to bed and not dreamt…it was a blessing. She had half-feared she would see Philip again, that she would be back in that stable, enduring stroke after stroke.

But a firm reminder of his cruelty yet remained, as she sat up her back ached. She would have to ask Sarah to make up some sort of salve. And then another feeling suddenly arrested, a sudden feeling of nausea overcame her and instinctively her hand flew to her stomach. Oh God no…She had heard how women had feelings of sickness when they were with child.

She breathed deep in an effort to calm herself and thought rationally. She could not be with child, though medically it was too soon to know, Lizzy was certain. There had been six years of this marriage, and she had not borne a child. Nor was she ever likely to, it seemed her body rejected Philip as much and as resolutely as her heart did. There could not be a child; no other creature ought to be inflicted to this misery, and she could never love a child of Philip's; no motherly sense would ever help her overcome the repulsion.

He had children of course, she did not doubt the fact that he had an illegitimate brood of bastards littering the country, and no doubt as many mistresses. But he would never be the father of her child.

* * *

'I am glad the evening passed more than pleasantly for you Jane…' Elizabeth linked arms with her sister and smiled at her warmly. They had decided to take a morning walk into the village. The characteristic nods of heads from the villagers were countered by equally characteristic sympathetic glances. 

'Mr Bingley is an able dancer, and no doubt a delightful conversationalist as well?' Lizzy teased her and watched with some amusement as Jane blushed adorably.

'Yes, he is,' Jane smiled widely. 'I thought I saw you talking at some length to his friend, Mr Darcy…given what I have heard of his political views his conversation should have been far from dull?'

Lizzy nodded a look of puzzlement crossed her face, 'the conversation was lively enough, though I think I may have offended Mr Bingley's friend somehow, surely you noted the cold manner in our parting…?'

'Yes that was strange, but it does not mean he is disagreeable, perhaps it is only because he is withdrawn. Bingley confided in me that after the Darcy family tragedy, Mr Darcy has done little to assert himself in the public eye. He takes careful steps to avoid dances and balls…' Jane defended Mr Darcy admirably. She knew as little about him as Lizzy did, but Jane with her fond heart was inclined to think well of everybody. Though that belief in the goodness of humanity had sorely been tested by Lord Hartfield, of him there was no reason to think well.

'I wonder then he attended last night. His withdrawal from the world as you put it has been having a detrimental affect on his sister. Did you manage to tear yourself far away from Mr Bingley long enough to talk to her…?

'Yes…' Jane nodded her head defiantly, 'I talked to a great many people Lizzy. It will not do that you think I am forever occupied with Mr Bingley…' his name caused Jane to pause mid-sentence in pleasant thoughts, Lizzy waited patiently for her sister to return from her day-dreaming, and vainly concealed an effort to laugh out loud.

Jane shook her head at last, and recalling what they had speaking of she blushed the deepest shade of red. Lizzy looking at her with a raised eyebrow and comical expression did nothing to help Jane regain her composure.

'Georgiana,…' she began again, 'is a charming girl, her mixture of elegance and innocence is truly disarming.'

Lizzy agreed, 'But she is so painfully shy, even more so than you. She must be careful; her lack of conversation will be interpreted as haughtiness rather than a reserved nature…'

'Perhaps we may call on her?' Jane suggested. Lizzy was inclined to agree; only she was not sure if she wished to risk seeing or speaking to Mr Darcy again. His cold manner in dismissing her had riled her, more than she cared to admit.

'Jane, stop here…' they were stood outside a milliners, 'I have seen some bonnets here that I think will do perfectly for Kitty and Lydia. If I buy them one each it may stop them squabbling and give all of you some peace and quiet…'

They stepped inside the shop, and were at once accosted by two fashionably dressed ladies who were looking at and disdainfully dismissing some trimmings. If Lizzy was unsure of her regard towards to Mr Bingley, she was more than sure of her sentiments regarding his sister's Miss Caroline Bingley and Mrs Hurst. The ladies both had a duplicitous nature, Caroline Bingley perhaps more than Mrs Hurst.

The latter was in truth, remarkably dull. Her only interesting point was that she had married a man with more wealth than sense, and now found herself bound to a gentleman who could claim no higher attribute than being an abrasive drunk. Mr Hurst's drunkenness Lizzy could very well abide, but he had of late sought to make gross, crude overtures towards her. He would however by no means attempt to lay a finger on her, the surety of Lord Hartfield killing him if he ever did saw to that.

Caroline Bingley sought to climb above her station. Lizzy had no doubt that had she been merely Elizabeth Bennet and not Lady Hartfield, Miss Bingley would not have been willing to spare her the time of day.

As it was Caroline courted Lizzy's good opinion assiduously and often painfully transparently, she encouraged Mr Bingley's attentions towards Jane, purely for the knowledge that a marriage between them would ensure a connection to the Hartsfield's.

And Caroline Bingley had had relations…intimate relations with Lizzy's husband. Barely within a week of their arrival in the neighbourhood, Lord Hartfield had flattered Miss Bingley out of her honour and into his bed. Caroline no doubt lived safe in the knowledge that Lizzy was ignorant of the whole affair, but Lizzy knew. Philip had taken great pleasure in informing her.

Both Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley hurried up to them before Lizzy could back quietly out of the door and make her escape unnoticed. They bowed low, and Lizzy maintained every effort to smile.

'Lady Hartfield, Jane…how wonderful it is to meet you here. For we were on our way to call on you, your Ladyship…' Caroline spoke in one rush of breath.

'Well it is very well then that we have met here and saved you a journey.' Lizzy spoke with a pointed ness that was entirely lost on the sisters. Jane looked at her reproachfully.

'We wanted to say how wonderful the dance was, and to offer our humblest apologies to your Ladyship for the actions and behaviour of one our party.'

Lizzy smiled mischievously, 'and this offender, may I assume they are making up the numbers of one of your party today?'

Caroline Bingley looked towards her sister more than a little confused, 'No, they are not…'

'Then I wonder that you take the trouble to apologise on their behalf, if it did not behove them to do so personally, I must ask if they thought such an apology at all necessary.' Lizzy moved past them and absent minded picked up a ribbon.

Lizzy could very well have ordered all her bonnets individually crafted from London and in all the latest styles, but Lizzy infinitely preferred Mrs Peabody's little shop. She had shopped here as a young girl and Mrs Peabody had always been remarkably kind; the old lady was deft at her trade and would make up any style that Lizzy desired. She could well afford to, Lady Hartfield's endorsement was a boost to her trade.

Caroline and Mrs Hurst appeared almost at once by her side. They smiled and cooed pathetically.

'We assure you, your Ladyship it was most certainly not our desire that Mr Darcy make up the numbers of our party last night, but our brother insisted.' Miss Bingley's voice took on a bitter tone. 'My brother is prodigiously kind, but I wonder at the lengths he will go to accommodate people. Georgiana Darcy is delightful, but her brother, aside from his political views, the frog-lover that he is…'

Lizzy was shocked that Miss Bingley could be so cold and disdainful about a childhood friend. Had Mr Darcy been wealthy still, Caroline would no doubt have an altogether different view on her brother's houseguest.

Mrs Hurst, no doubt the more compassionate of the two offered some defence for Mr Darcy. 'Be kind Caroline, you know our father thought very well of Mr Darcy's father, they did much business together and father thought old Mr Darcy a very good sort of man…'

'And no doubt he kept a very good sort of shop!' Both sisters laughed at this apparent display of wit. But Lizzy growing more outraged by the minute resolved to speak calmly. She turned to face Caroline.

'Before you condemn Mr Darcy for his connections and the occupation of his late father, perhaps it would do you well ladies to remember that your own father was in trade, which I have always thought to be only one step up from a shop. I believe much of your current wealth is owed to that method of business.' Lizzy moved past them once more, making the point of leaving.

'Good day to you ladies, and be so kind as to tell Miss Darcy that my sister Jane and I would be honoured to call on her during the course of the day…' She pushed past them both and made her way to Jane who was still stood by the door, but not before turning to offer them one more remark.

'That is of course if you ladies would find me a more welcome guest than Mr Darcy?' She tilted her head to one side apparently seeking an answer.

The sisters pressed forward once more, Caroline nodded profusely, 'Of course…of course your Ladyship, you are most welcome and at anytime.'

* * *

Both Lizzy and Jane were thinking of the encounter in the shop with some mirth, when arrival at Hartfield soon put away any pleasant thoughts. Lizzy had managed to persuade Jane to take some refreshment, her sister had agreed but on the strict condition that they wouldn't have to spend time in the company of Philip. 

Lizzy had never offered reassurances as gladly received as they were given.

But something in the house was different; Lizzy noticed it almost at once. The way the servants were stood about, shifting nervously. There was no Sarah; Lizzy's heart sank, had Philip managed to corner the poor girl again?

'Where is his Lordship?' she demanded of his valet, 'What are you all doing here, crowded around like this?' The man pointed to the far end of the house, towards Philips study.

Lizzy followed the direction blindly, not caring to remover her walking coat or scarf. She only removed her bonnet; and dropped it on the floor as she went. Lizzy could not in her wildest imagination have foreseen the spectacle in front of her. The door was ajar, and she saw Philip stood at his desk, held at bay by a young man brandishing a large knife.

She recognised the boy immediately, Sarah's sweetheart, David. She stepped into the room; just as a gasp rose up from behind her. Lizzy turned to look, she had forgotten about poor Jane. Dear, feeling Jane who had never seen such a menacing, encroaching display of violence was dumb struck. She vainly and instinctively reached out to pull Elizabeth out of harms way, but Lizzy pushed her back.

'Please Jane, you must stay out here, please…' and gently pushing her sister out of the doorway she closed the door with some firmness.

It was then she noted Sarah, she was sat hunched in the corner of the room against a bookcase. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her face was buried in her arms. She refused to look; the terror stricken girl was shaking.

Lizzy having once ascertained that she was not physically harmed, turned to her husband and his adversary.

'My Lord…' she began carefully, David was clearly apoplectic with rage, and the slightest move would have sent him into a frenzied attack. 'My Lord, why have you not consulted the assistance of the servants?'

Lord Hartfield laughed, an ugly sound that sent Sarah whimpering, 'against this whelp of a boy…I shouldn't think so my lady…' She noticed Philip's hands twitching at his desk drawer.

Approaching David carefully, she smiled gently at him and noted the way he stiffened at Philip's words. 'My Lord do you think it wise to provoke the boy…?'

Lord Hartfield didn't care to make a reply. 'David?' Lizzy called out to him gently, they were in a precarious position. The knife was a formidable looking weapon, clearly one stolen from the kitchen. Lizzy was only a few feet away from them, David had the vantage over all three, he had merely to launch himself at a Lord Hartfield or Lizzy with devastating affect.

She spoke deliberately low and placed herself between the knife and her husband. David blinked; it seemed he had only now noted her presence. The poor boy was shaking in a blind rage. His jaw was set hard, and it pained Lizzy to see the tell tale signs of bitter tears in his eyes.

'He hurt Sarah, I was going to marry her…and now I can't even look at her. He's ruined everything…he touched her…' David's voice choked and he stiffened his arm again holding the knife tightly for all his worth.

Lizzy spoke calmly, 'David? Look at me...' she demanded, her voice was clear and resolute, 'never mind him.….' She referred to Philip. Risking it all, she reached out and took David's chin in her hand. She turned his attention on herself.

'Look at me.' She commanded once more, this time David obeyed. 'I promise you, I swear to you Lord Hartfield did not hurt Sarah in the way you have imagined. I would never allow him to do so, you know that' her voice at once was both soothing and firm, 'you do trust me don't you David…? I swear to you, I would take it upon myself rather than let her suffer an inch…' he nodded meekly.

The way she spoke convinced David that she had done as she promised, she had taken it upon herself. His eyes welled up once more and he dropped his arm. The knife hung limply by his side, and he turned to leave.

Lizzy breathed a huge sigh of relief; she gave her husband a look of reproach. He stood unmoved and unremorseful. What took place next happened in such a blinding haste, Lizzy found it hard to believe hours afterwards.

David had only made a show of leaving, as soon as he perceived their inattention he turned back and with a blood curdling war cry launched himself at Lord Hartfield once more.

'Philip!' Lizzy cried out a warning, her voice projected itself almost before she could understand what was happening. But Lord Hartfield was ready, his fingers had been twitching above the desk drawer for a weapon of his own, a loaded pistol with which he now took careful and steady aim at David.

Lizzy watched in horror as the boy's chest exploded in an awful haze of blood and smoke. Somebody screamed, at first she thought the sound had come from her, but it was Jane, Jane was stood just inside the open door. Stupid, stupid Lizzy not to have locked it.

Her horror grew when she perceived Jane to be splattered head to foot in blood, for one terrible moment she thought it was Jane who had been hit. But her sister was not covered in her own blood, it was David's.; Jane promptly fainted.

Poor, stupid David…foolish, foolish boy; Lizzy hurried over to him, he was gasping for breath. He seemed acutely aware of his impending doom, and in those desperate moments when life teeters in between, imbalanced and losing to the cold spectre of death, he reached up and extended a desperate hand to Lizzy. It is the loneliness we fear, in life as in death.

She dropped to her knees next to him. Removing her scarf, she pressed it to his gaping wound desperately trying to stem the loss of blood. He tilted his head towards her, and she could see the tears flow freely now. Lizzy began to cry herself, she took the hand he offered her and kissed it gently. A faint trickle of blood gurgled out of his mouth and fell down the side of his face.

And then he was gone.

Sarah had moved from her place at last, and approached David slowly. Lizzy looked up as she stood over his body. Sarah would not look at her; she sat down next to the body of the man she loved and rocked herself gently.

Lizzy stood up unsteadily; she pressed a bloody hand to her face, oblivious to the sticky liquid. She moved slowly to the door, and stepping out of the study stood in the hallway. She eyed each servant accusing them in turn, some of the maids screamed when they saw her covered in blood.

She made her way through the crowd, 'We will need to send for a doctor.…'

* * *

Jane recovered from her faintness, burnt feathers held under her nose saw to that. But nothing could shake from her the horror of what she had witnessed. She refused to spend the night at Hartfield to further recuperate and insisted on returning home as soon as the doctor had checked her. 

She equally did not insist on Elizabeth returning with her, and Lizzy could interpret it almost at once. Jane wanted to be far away from Hartfield, far away from Philip and no doubt far away from Lizzy. If she was to recover from the shock, Jane had to distance herself from all the brutality associated with it, and all those who had a hand in David's death.

* * *

Her life had been eternally one of servitude; it was a sense of duty that had rendered her Lord Hartfield's wife. A sense of duty to a devastated mother and a dead father, and it was a sense of duty that had made her come between David's knife and her husband. 

In the eyes of God and more pressingly in the eyes of the law she was married, and it was the sense of duty to that will that had made her call out Philip's name to warn him. For the will stipulated that Lizzy would receive nothing if her husband died in anything other than natural circumstances. Being knifed in a frenzied attack by a crazed young man was by no means a natural circumstance. She had come too far, and sacrificed too much to have allowed David destroying it. If he had succeeded he would have ruined everything, and all that she would have endured over the years would have been wasted, it would have been for nothing.

All these musings, late that night as Lizzy sat on her bed, were in an effort to quieten and allay her sense of guilt. She wished vainly to be able to do what Jane had done, to be able to seek the comfort of a family home and distance her self from the part she had played in a young man's death.

She looked away as Lord Hartfield entered her room carrying a tray with a glass of wine. He set the tray on her dressing room table, and carried the glass over to her. He sat down next to her, and held out the wine.

'Drink this, it will help you sleep.' He spoke in low measured tones. Lizzy took the glass and sipped it slowly. Though she would have liked nothing more than to refuse by spilling the contents over his head, Lizzy saw the sense in taking the liquor; she doubted she would sleep at all otherwise. Or worse that she would dream.

'Do you know my dear,' he leaned in close and spoke gently in her ear, 'I feel there has been a significant thaw in our relations, for I doubt you would have warned me had you still been so indifferent.' He nuzzled her neck, and she felt sickened by his touch.

She moved back and smiled coldly at him, 'You may rest assured my Lord, my only reasons for wishing to prolong your life were wholly and purely mercenary…'

He knew her to be alluding to the will, but he did not seem as affected by these words as she had hoped he would be, rather it seemed as if he was not listening, and that he had convinced himself otherwise.

And then she did not care anymore, her eyes began to droop heavily, she could not focus, and she suddenly felt remarkably tired. Her limbs felt as if they were weighted and her breathing began to slow…

Lord Hartfield took the glass from her just before she fell back onto her bed, unconscious. This was not the first time he had used laudanum for a desired effect, and as he positioned her more carefully on the bed so that she would be more comfortable in the night, he spied the pillow lying on the other side of her.

He took it in his hands and studied it closely; he looked down at Lizzy again, and recalled her words of only a few minutes before, 'Wholly and purely mercenary…' she had said. He looked at the pillow once more and tightened it within his grip, his jaw stiff and his eyes narrowed….


	6. Sea Of Wretched Souls

_A/N: In answer to Qwara who asked regarding the timeline of the story, the exact dates of the Industrial Revolution in Britain are contended but generally thought to be between the years 1780-1830, this was the first revolution which gradually merged into the second in 1850. Jane Austen's world was primarily in the South and West of the country, the furthest parts from the reform that was happening in the North. She generally kept to this 'Old World' as it became known, and she set her stories within this framework of gentility which in her case was the middle band. She was a great observant of the human nature and was both lauded and criticised for sticking to such a narrow world, I think it was Sir Walter Scott who once praised Jane Austen for, 'that exquisite touch which renders ordinary commonplace things and characters interesting.'  
She purposefully chose not to right about the revolution, the upheavals in France or across the water in America, though she was well aware of the events.  
_

_I just wanted to widen the scope a little and exaggerate the level of social difference between Lizzy and Darcy._**  
**

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* * *

Part 6- 'Sea of wretched souls…'**

Lizzy awoke the next morning with a head that was still groggy and a stiff neck. She turned to one side and caught sight of Philip sleeping beside her. His breathing was shallow, and his head lay close to her. She saw he was fully clothed still, aside from removing his coat and boots; he lay atop of the sheets. If one thought to look at him then, without knowing his true nature, one would have been inclined to think he was the model husband, filled with kindly concerns for his wife.

He hadn't hurt her then, not last night at least, but she wondered what he had given her to drink. Whatever it was, she was glad it had meant she had not dreamt. She rose slowly and gently and made her way quietly over to the window.

The sun had barely risen; it was a fine streak of fiery red peering out just beyond the hills. It is a magical moment, a sunrise, and a peaceful one, ethereal and serene. To Lizzy it always seemed the time when the world and all its creatures ought to fall silent in reverence to this wondrous act of nature, this continuous beauty of time.

Peaceful and serene, the very elements of which Lizzy had sorely lacked for so many years, and never more so than now, gone was the wonder of a sunrise, replaced with images horrific and destructive. In her minds eye all she saw now in the fine streak of brilliant sunshine and the red glow of the promise of a new day, was David.

David and blood….painfully red and ebbing away.

She shuddered feeling utterly wretched and lost, but realising it was still early, saw there was nothing else to be done. Turning away from the view she went back and lay on the bed. Only now upon closing her eyes, it was all red…all so red.

Being careful to make sure none of her body was in contact with Philips, she chose to stare at the ceiling instead. Sleep be damned, it was not worth the effort.

* * *

Lizzy stood at the foot of Jane's bed and her heart fell. She had forsaken breakfast to come and see Jane. Knowing her sister's affectionate and feeling heart she worried about Jane's health, and she was right to. 

Jane was not well, the horror of what she had witnessed had brought on such a headache and fever that Jane had collapsed in bed as soon as she had returned. Now as Lizzy looked on Jane slipped in and out of consciousness, muttering inconsistencies that barely made sense.

As she returned downstairs and opened the door to the parlour, the rest of her family stood up. They looked towards her accusingly.

Lizzy could not be surprised; the news of David's death and the circumstances surrounding it had no doubt reached their ears as well. The village had been rife with gossip, and as she had taken that road early to see Jane, from the few souls she had passed even then there had been the same accusatory glances. They blamed her…and they condemned her.

Of all of them, Mary, Kitty and Lydia, it was her mother's reproach that wounded, those weary eyes filled with love and concern for one daughter and bitter accusation for the other.

'Mama…' Lizzy began pleadingly, 'perhaps I ought to remain here, to help take care of Jane?' Mrs Bennet did not make a reply; instead she strode purposely towards the door, and brushing distinctly and coldly past was about to leave without saying a word to Lizzy.

'Mama, please…' Lizzy's heart, that cold heart for so long closed and indifferent was ready to break with the rejection from a mother, 'please may I stay?'

Mrs Bennet with her back still to her, refusing to look and refusing to care, spoke bitterly and in an utterly flat tone, 'No…no, you may not stay.'

Lizzy bit her lip in an effort to prevent the tears as her sisters, first Lydia and then Kitty followed their mother's example and left the room without speaking a word to her. Refusing to look and refusing to care.

Only Mary, who had read something in Fordyce's sermons about forgiveness, looked back as she left, 'Lizzy…' she began.

Lizzy merely shook her head at her, and so away went Mary as well and Lizzy was stood alone. Alone in that room, in that house she had sacrificed so much for. The bitterness threatened to overwhelm her; it grew, an abject blackness, devoid of a graceful light and settled on her heart, a thing heavy and cancerous.

Her mother blamed her, resented her for taking Jane to Hartfield and exposing her to that man. For the first time in her life Lizzy felt a stranger in this house, her family home for which the fight had been so resentful. She felt embittered, and utterly dejected.

But she would not cry, Lady Elizabeth Hartfield did not cry, not even when her own mother… Lizzy, holding her chin up high and proud took a few deep breaths and made her way to the front door of the house. As she laid her hand on that handle and turned it slowly her hand shook violently. She had to place the other on top of it in an effort to gain some control.

It was the realisation, the knowing that as soon as she stepped out of this house, as long as she was no longer welcomed here, only Hartfield remained. There was no where else to call home except that place, and _no one else_ left except Philip.

* * *

It was with heavy, heavy footsteps that Lizzy dragged herself back to Hartfield, all the way having to endure her mother's words in her ears. And the people, Longbourn villagers, people she had known all her life, who refused to look at her. They condemned her with a wretchedness that could not have been more complete had she taken that pistol and pulled the trigger herself. 

Not even the sight of her beloved cherry tree consoled her today, everything was cold. She looked up heavenwards at the swooping birds commanding the skies as she walked and wondered, 'What it must be like to be as free as all that, because when there was no where else left to run, was there room for one more soul?'

Had Lizzy looked towards the tree, had she even glanced at it momentarily she would have noted the sight of a gentleman departing from it, having waited in vain for the appearance of a certain lady.

* * *

Darcy had seen Lizzy walk pasts the field without even looking in his direction. But he had convinced himself she had seen him and was avoiding him deliberately. He had held out hopes that his behaviour at the ball had not rendered her wholly disgusted with him, for though he despised the dangerous game he thought she was playing, he found he could not keep away. 

Lady Hartfield had drawn him in, his resentment against what he considered the disparate wealthy could not hold up against his admiration and feelings for _her_. She had undone him. He realised he was enough in love with her to hang about her if he must, for though he was certain he could never know her as a lover, his heart was lost enough for him to be satisfied with the closeness of an acquaintance.

And What was more he knew exactly why it was he could endure so little from her, find satisfaction of a meagre affection, it was because Lady Hartfield had a smile. Rarely used of course and hidden deep within those eyes, but it was a smile that seemed to encompass the beauteous wonders of the world, and when she turned that smile on you, for mere seconds even, it was as if you were the centre, the heart of that world. And my God, what a feeling it was. She had shone that smile at him, briefly at the ball, and it was heavenly, he felt a lost soul almost, returning home at last.

But when that smile left you, as it had done him, the coldness that accompanied such a loss was heart wrenching. And it was why Darcy was convinced he could be satisfied with so little. If they were acquaintances at the very least, at some point perhaps he would be fortunate enough to have that smile warm his heart once more. He could be satisfied if it was only ever once more.

Darcy arrived back at Netherfield heavy of heart and mind. He looked up as he made his way towards the entrance and spied Georgiana sat at the drawing room window. He noted her face fall when she looked at him; she looked beyond him as well, past his shoulder and down the lengthy driveway. It was clear she was expecting someone.

Darcy threw his coat carelessly on the chair in the hallway, and watched amazed as a servant appeared as if from nowhere to neaten the mess he had made. Georgiana was still sat at the window when he entered the room, he noticed the way she sighed heavily and her shoulders sagged in obvious and abject disappointment. She was waiting for someone, her eager anticipation made her acutely aware of every sound, and she would sit up now and again thinking her hopes had been answered.

Darcy stood stiff and still by the fireplace, he chewed his fingernail in absent mindedness and waited patiently for Georgiana to tell him who her expected and ever elusive visitor was. 'Lady Hartfield told Miss Bingley yesterday that she would call on me along with Miss Bennet.' Georgiana spoke hurriedly barely turning her head from the window, just in case she missed the ladies arrival.

Darcy awoke to all attention when his sister mentioned Lady Hartfield's name, it amazed him that both he and his sister could be the subject of such bitter disappointment at precisely the same time and by the hand of the same woman.

'Mr Bingley is about the grounds hoping to catch a glimpse of the ladies so he can greet them accordingly, but…' Georgiana seemed to have momentary doubts but shaking them off went back to her vigil at the window.

'Georgia…' he called out softly. She turned to face him fully now, her brother only ever called her Georgia when he was angry with her or had some painful news. She looked up at him doe-eyed and dutiful.

Darcy sighed, 'Georgia, she told Miss Bingley she was coming yesterday, and yet she has not arrived. Darling, I saw her walking this morning; she was going in the opposite direction of Netherfield. Georgia…I think perhaps, she is not going to call.' Darcy held his hand out for comfort.

His sister refused to take it, she was adamant he was wrong. 'No, Lady Hartfield asked Miss Bingley to inform me directly, it is a good as a promise surely.'

'The promise of grand Lords and Ladies is never something to be relied on, I thought bitter experience would have taught you that by now, have you forgotten so soon what it was like?' In his own blind dejection, he spoke more harshly to his sister than he had intended.

Georgiana in all her youthful belief and trust held out hope still. 'No I have not forgotten, that is cruel and unfair of you. But they are not all the same, Lady Hartfield _is_ different. Surely you have seen it, her manner of speaking to you, the way she challenged you, even I could see you were impressed. But brother, she put me at an ease within a matter of minutes within speaking with her, her reassurances and kind words had me completely within her grasp.' Georgiana spoke with strength of feeling and conviction he had oft missed since their parents had died. She took his hand gladly now and held it tightly.

'I think I finally fully understood what a truly wonderful thing it is to have a sister.' She looked up at him eagerly in the hope that he would understand her sentiments. Darcy did, but could not allow her to live in such blind hope.

'But Georgia…' he spoke with painful tenderness, 'she has not come.'

Georgiana had never been very good at hiding her feelings, Darcy was glad for it. There ought to be little secrets between brothers and sisters. She was vainly trying to disguise her disappointment. Her disappointment a lady as grand as Lady Hartfield had raised her hopes of being noticed and befriended and just as soon dashed them. Georgiana had lacked a guiding force in her life, her brother had been more than equal to the job, but there were some things better shared between women. Georgiana had longed for a female friend to share confidences with; the prospect of having Lady Hartfield as a confidant had been a hope beyond expectation.

And then there was Bingley, wandering about the grounds no doubt both looking and feeling an abject fool, awaiting the arrival of the woman he loved and a woman whose good opinion he had at last thought he'd gained.

Darcy felt for them both, for them, himself, and anyone else who had ever had the misfortune to be touched by the Hartfields's. For as soon he was certain he was in love with Lizzy, Darcy resented the fact. He had never wanted to fall in love with her, and he wanted desperately to leave her alone now. Every voice in his being screamed that he had known all along that she would always hurt him anyway.

But they were rising uncontrollable in his veins, sentiments at once confusing and painful. Women like Lady Hartfield were better off left alone, they threw a circle of pain about them, that no wondrous smile could do away. And it hurt to the core, it was a coldness he could have well borne it if it was only meant for him, but now it was affecting others so. Others he loved dearly, Georgiana and Bingley, and that knowledge rendered him hopeless. He never thought it could happen to him, but here he was, at once hopelessly hating and loving.

Anything was better than this; he would have endured a thousand broken bones had it saved him from such confusion. Perhaps, he thought grimly, it was time he left, take Georgiana and leave for the busy, dirty cities they were used to. Back to familiar scenes, and a people they understood and leave all this behind, leave the likes of Lady Hartfield behind. He had been a fool, how could he have expected to endure much more of this wretchedness, if after only a few words under a tree, and precious few more in a ballroom, he was so completely undone?

He realised he could never be satisfied with merely being her acquaintance, for him it would have to be all or nothing. And in all honesty, nothing was proving itself the saner option. Yes, it was time to leave.

But not before he had told Lady Hartfield exactly what he thought of her.

* * *

Lizzy returned to Hartfield aching for some semblance of human contact, even if it meant speaking to Philip, she was indeed that desperate. But even Philip, the man she was forever normally trying to avoid, had other plans. She was informed by his valet his Lordship had left for London that very morning. Lizzy was alone, entirely alone. 

Alone in that house, where that boy had been killed, where he had bled to death in Lizzy's arms. Her feet took her almost of an independent volition down the hallway and towards the place where it had happened. She stood outside the closed door of the study and tried to catch her breath. She raised her hands to her face, and looking at them was horrified, there was blood on them…!

So intense had been her thoughts on what had occurred in that room yesterday, that she had unknowingly dug her fingers into her palms, her nails had cut deep into the soft flesh. There was blood covering her palms, her fingers…it was everywhere. Her breathing was becoming more rapid, and she struggled against the faintness.

'My Lady…' A voice behind her wrenched her out of her demonic visions. 'There is a gentleman who requests an audience with your Ladyship.'

Lizzy sighed and shook her head at the footman, 'Tell him I am not receiving guests, or better still tell him I have left.'

'Well I'm afraid your Ladyship he may not believe you,' Lizzy looked past the servant and upwards into the face of the tall, angry looking Mr Darcy. 'Especially,' He continued, 'as he saw you enter not five minutes before.'

It would have been common courtesy for Darcy to wait, as the guest he ought to have sat in the drawing room and waited on her arrival, but as she had already seen he was not a man to stand on ceremony. She at once folded her hands behind her back; the blood on them was beginning to dry.

'Mr Darcy, I must confess to being surprised to see you here, what can you possibly mean by it sir.' She turned on her heel and began rapidly walking away from the study, away from the ghost that room had newly acquired. One more ghost for Hartfield, another bitter, horrific memory for the pained four walls to absorb.

'After our last conversation, I would have thought anything we had to say to each other would be for ever taken with a growing suspicion. I would find it unnerving to be constantly surprised at what the other would have to say.' She tried to speak with some effort at lightness, but it was inevitably a poor effort. Her words were forced and she fought against the urge to collapse exhausted on the chaise lounge in the drawing room.

But all this, Lizzy's clear discomfort, was lost on him. He could not see past his anger, blind anger, brought on in swathes of jealousy and longing. He would have given anything to cross this great space between them and hold her and cover in kisses. But as soon as one feeling found its prominence, others of an equal passion overtook them, his revulsion at her pride and coldness.

He declined her offer to sit and instead paced the room; she chose to stand as well.

'I do not know the habits of the wealthy, but I think it a poor effort indeed when a lady makes promises she has no intention of honouring.' Darcy words were harsh and his tone deliberately cutting.

Lizzy looked surprised at his words, never mind being surprised at what they both did, or did not say, this was certainly direct. But for the life of her she could not understand what he was alluding to.

She held her head dignified and coolly aloft, 'and I think it a poor effort when a gentleman enters a lady's house with the pretension and nerve to question her honour.'

But Mr Darcy was not listening to her, he had his own anger to expel, and he was determined she would hear him. 'My sister is an affectionate being, she has a tendency to think well of everybody. Heaven knows it is a weakness I have oft tried to cure her of, but she will persist, and inevitably she will suffer the pain of disappointment. And all because of people like _you_.'

He stopped suddenly, there was so much more to be said so many reproofs yet to offer… but something was wrong; she was not attending to his words. Had it been merely through a pointed and haughty indifference he would have been furious but she seemed genuinely ill. Her features were pale, and she was shaking her head in confusion and an abject absence of solace.

'I don't understand…I can't remember. Your sister, I-I can't…' As she brought up one hand from behind her back to furiously rub her temple Darcy was horrified to see it covered in blood, she left a dark red smudge of it on her forehead just above the eye.

All anger was done away in an instant; he hurried over to her, and in a moment of desolate grief and concern for her, took both her arms forcefully from behind her back and brought them up to look at them closely.

'Your hands!' he exclaimed. They were covered, caked in barely dried blood; he held them palm upwards in his own. He searched her eyes for an explanation, but it seemed she was confused as he; she looked at the blood as if she had only just encountered it afresh.

'It's nothing…' she muttered. But Darcy could not bare the sight it. He sat her down on the chaise, she was shaking head to foot, and Darcy feared if he had not sat her down she would have fallen down. He hurried to the door and opening it with such a violent force he startled the passing servant. He called out to him in a voice that proved itself as commanding as Lord Hartfield's.

'Get me a bowl of water man, and some bandages!' seeing the fool still rooted to the spot, he shouted 'Hurry man!' That stirred him into action; he scurried away with a view to following orders. He returned and so flustered was he by Darcy's commanding tone that he entered the room without knocking. The sight he saw by the far end of the room, beneath the window amazed him.

His mistress was sat on the chaise, holding out her hands, bloodied hands. And there was Mr Darcy, sat so close that their knees almost touched. The gentleman made no effort to disguise his obvious intimate manner of sitting in a posture reserved purely for lovers.

Rather he rose slowly from her Ladyship's side and walking over to servant took the bowl and cloths from him with a gentle, but forceful tug.

'Thank you, you may leave us now.' The servant did, but not without one more curious glace as he departed and shut the door behind him.

Lizzy sat watching the blood from the numerous small cuts on her hands ooze and trickle; it fell in fine splatters on her white dress. She made no effort to stop the flow as the tiny rivulets made their way down the side of her palm and formed yet more droplets.

She watched the spectacle fascinated. There were voices, so many voices; in her head…whispers, screams…recriminating voices…pained voices. And all the time, all that blood on her hands. Whose blood…hers, David's…the demons? She was losing her mind…so many voices.

But then as soon as the onslaught came it was gone, and only one voice remained…Darcy's. His voice, soothing, bringing her back, a calming and deep voice applied as gently as the water he used to clean her hands. She looked at him, his head was bent low, all concentration focused on her palms.

'Forgive me…' she whispered. Her voice was barely audible to her own ears, but he heard her. Looking up he fixed her with a haunting gaze, such sorrow and pity…and he barely knew her.

'I had forgotten about your sister, you have every right to be angry,' she continued as he worked. 'But Jane has fallen ill…and the fault is entirely mine.' He stopped and looked up at her suddenly. She smiled gently at him.

'Could it be that you are the only soul in this forsaken place, in the whole of Longbourn Hertfordshire that doesn't know?' His inquiring and bemused expression confirmed that he was indeed the one soul who did not know.

But she found she could not tell him, she lacked the strength. Let him hear from the gossip in the village, his recrimination would by no means be the worst to endure. She had already lost so much this morning, what was one more unfavourable opinion.

Darcy finished at last, her palms were bound tightly, the edges all tucked in neat and skilfully. He held her hands still and looking up into her face thought he saw with bated breath the secret smile that had so filled with him joy, the smile that for him encompassed the world. But in a flash it was gone, and she merely looked at him then once again as Lady Hartfield and nothing else.

'Thank you…' she removed her hands from his and placed them neatly in her lap. But he was not done yet, there was still that smudge above her eye. He rinsed out the cloth he had been using and cupping her chin firmly in one hand leaned in close to work at the mark, she moved not an inch. His gaze met hers and for a while he stayed that way, cloth in one hand and his lips not inches from hers. His eyes wandered down the length of her exquisite nose, the fullness of her pale cheek, down along the line of her regal jaw, and further…further down that enchanting, proud neck…and beyond.

He forewent breathing lest the spell be broken, and as he leaned in to press his mouth against Lady Hartfield's beautifully soft lips…,

'I think Mr Darcy, it would be best if you left now.' She spoke at last; spoke coldly and flatly to dismiss him.

He nodded and moving back rose to leave. 'Yes…, I think you are right.'


	7. A Bitter Curse

_A/N: The sad deterioration of a once beautiful mind like Lizzy's is always sad to write but painfully necessary._**  
**

**Part 7- 'A bitter curse…'**

'And you are quite sure there is no immediate danger Dr Irvine, Jane will be well again?' Lady Hartfield stood facing the middle-aged doctor, an insistent tone betraying the concern in her voice.

'Considering what Miss Bennet witnessed in seeing the death of that young man, one could hardly expect…'

Lizzy was stern in her reply, 'I am very well aware of what took place here yesterday doctor, I believe my question was with regards to my sisters health.' She met his gaze with a cold look of her own. She had sent for the doctor, as soon as Darcy had left, to gain an insight into Jane's condition, as her mother had made it clear she would no longer be welcome, second hand information from the doctor was the only manner in which she could hope to receive any news.

Dr Irvine sniffed haughtily, 'I believe she will recover fully, it is a matter of time and bed rest of course.'

'Thank you, if you would be so kind to ensure that all bills are directed here and addressed to me. I will settle the whole.' Lizzy moved toward the door in an effort to dismiss him.

He was already moving in that direction, he had no wish to remain longer in the wretched house. 'How very like you,' he thought, 'how very much like the cold and indifferent Lady Hartfield to think that sensation and compassion can be bought.' He had heard something of the events that had led to David's death, and equally had no doubt of the part this woman had played in it. And now, to dismiss any portion of blame she was attempting to pay off her sister's medical bills for a condition her husband had caused.

He shook his head in silent disdain, what change wealth wrought even in those he thought too sensible to be affected by it. He had known Elizabeth Bennet as a child, and where he had once felt the acutest sympathies for her situation, he now felt disgusted by her aloofness. Well he remembered the child, affectionate and easy with everybody, and as he gladly took leave of her, wondered where that sensitive creature had gone.

* * *

Darcy did not return to Netherfield immediately, he took to walking the hills surrounding Hartfield Estate, wandering far but always close enough to keep the house in view. How close he had come to kissing her, and how he could have sworn she had not found the notion so entirely repulsive. 

It was his perpetual worry that kept him close, 'I am to blame…' she had said, but how she could have been responsible and how she could apportion blame upon herself with such unrelenting despair was beyond him.

Her poor hands, he pictured them still, bleeding and now bandaged lovingly and devotedly by him, she seemed to have been oblivious to the injury she had inflicted upon herself. Yes, it was perpetual worry that kept him close, and would keep him close. He could never very well leave her now.

* * *

'So you see, she couldn't have come…' Georgiana looked up at Darcy. He was stood in that familiar lone place by the fireside amazed at what he had just heard. 

Bingley likewise was ashen faced. They had all been listening riveted to Caroline's words; she spared no details as to how it all came about. How it was that Lord Hartfield had shot a young stable boy who had threatened him. She spoke with a glint in her eye that made clear her admiration at what she perceived to be the Lord's heroics.

'And Miss Bennet was there…?' Bingley's words bespoke his concern. Caroline nodded enthusiastically. 'Yes, apparently the poor girl was splattered head to foot in blood.' Bingley visibly shook at the horror his beloved had borne.

Mrs Hurst then joined in the narrative, 'They say Lady Hartfield saved his Lordship's life, apparently she shouted out a warning, his Lordship would have been run through otherwise for sure…' She went back to playing with her bangles. Her husband was stretched out on the chaise beside her, drunk and sound asleep, as he turned over and grunted, the room regarded him with disgust.

Darcy went back to chewing his fingernail; it was an unfortunate habit, one he had acquired from perpetual worry, it had begun soon after his parents had died, since then his fingers had rarely looked their best. 'So that is what she meant,' he thought, in saving her husband she had injured her sister.

'Of course,…' Caroline began again, 'You do know the greater surprise lies in her warning him at all.' Darcy looked at her curiously. She had that mischievous glint in her eye.

Bingley shook his head confused, 'I can't understand your meaning Caroline, of course she would warn him, he is after all her husband.'

His sister scoffed, 'Surely you must know how that peculiarity has come about?'

Darcy impatient for details snapped, 'We do not enjoy the luxury of loose-tongued maids who revel in gossip and hearsay, unfortunately gentleman cannot expect to rely on their valets for the latest village scandal…'

Caroline sneered, 'And of course, the luxury would be all the greater if the gentleman in question had a valet to speak of.' Always those belittling comments at his lack of wealth, he was not surprised by it; he had long come to expect little else from the mercenary Caroline Bingley. Georgiana hurt on behalf of her brother went and stood next to him, Darcy patted the hand she rested on his arm.

Bingley, too full of concern for Jane was unwilling to reproach his sister as he ought, he leaned forward in his chair, as anxious as Darcy for more information, 'Caroline what peculiarity?'

She stood and walked about the room, deliberately and rather cruelly drawing out his suspense. 'It was all decreed in the most ridiculous will. Old Lord Hartfield declared that if his son was to inherit anything at all, it was conditional entirely on his marrying Elizabeth Bennet. It is the only way this match could have taken place at all; his Lordship would never have looked at a mere country gentleman's daughter twice. Lord Hartfield could have done infinitely better than Elizabeth Bennet…'

Darcy smiled indignantly, 'Perhaps we ought to say it is Elizabeth Bennet that could have done infinitely better than Lord Hartfield.'

Caroline snorted, and almost laughed outright, 'Elizabeth Bennet…? I assure you the good fortune is entirely hers. After her father's death the family was facing certain destitution, their home was entailed away to a distant male relative. The fact that the Bennets' reside at Longbourn still is due entirely to the generosity of Lord Hartfield. He bought the place outright for her, no it is Lady Hartfield that is to be envied.'

'And yet the village is surprised by her efforts to save him?' Bingley sounded as confused as the rest of them.

Caroline sniffed and held her nose high in the air, 'Lady Hartfield will forever be one of those women who fall headlong into good fortune without the good sense to recognise it as such. By all accounts the marriage is certainly not of the felicitous kind, but they say Lady Hartfield is proud, she will make every attempt to ensure appearances suggest otherwise.'

Darcy was intrigued, this was certainly a development. He had thought the match was through a mutual love, but the fact that they were bound together instead by a father's will was something altogether different. Bounds of the heart were sacred and infinitely more resistant; bounds of the law, on the other hand, to his revolutionary mind, were made to be broken.

* * *

Lizzy breathed deeply and fought against the faintness, she stood outside the study once more, much in the same way she had done before Darcy had interrupted. She could not understand this need, this desire to enter the wretched room once more. 

Surely it was in an effort to punish her self further, what other reason could there be?

She gripped the handle tightly, the pain from her cuts shot up and the faint tingling travelled slowly up her arm. Pushing the door open slightly, she stepped in with closed eyes. But she was not alone in the room.

No, there was Sarah, dear, forgotten Sarah on her hands and knees with a bucket of water beside her, scrubbing away at the blood stains on the rug. Scrubbing furiously at the place where David had bled, forcefully removing the stain, removing the mark, the memory. She wept as she rinsed out the bloodied cloth in the bucket; her hair was loose and fell about her face, her reddened face, marked by exertion and sorrow.

Lizzy for a moment was aghast and simply stared as Sarah scrubbed and rinsed, rinsed and scrubbed.

'Sarah…?' she called out tentatively, it seemed she was not heard, and she repeated the name. Sarah stopped and shaking in anger suddenly turned a grief-crazed eye on Lizzy, Sarah's eyes were rimmed red and the dark circles encircling them gave her an all the more maddened look, and gave Lady Hartfield all the more reason for fear.

Lizzy shrunk back.

She backed right up against the bookcase, but it was not safe. The wall and the endless volumes were covered in blood splatters; she spied them out of the corner of her eye, and she couldn't breathe. Lizzy recoiled away from the wall and stood in the centre of the room, looking around her, the horror returned, and she saw it all again in her mind's eye. David falling, David dying, and then the voices returned. Recriminating voices…painful voices, accusing…condemning.

Only it was not Darcy's soothing voice that quelled them this time, it was Sarah. Lizzy had shut her eyes, but she could not escape, and Sarah was there in a moment, stood behind her, at the side of her, in front of her. 'It's a curse…' she seemed to be whispering, 'You cannot escape it, always, this will always be with you…what you did. I curse you Lady Hartfield, condemn you to your cold, unfeeling heart, and David curses you, he curses you with all his spirit. The images that play in your mind, that spring from the very depths of hell itself, they will haunt you forever…always…'

Lizzy could bear it no longer. She placed her hands over her ears to shut her out, and fell to her knees screaming. The commotion inevitably brought the servants running, what they saw shook them to the core, Lady Hartfield was in the middle of the study, kneeling, begging and screaming for forgiveness.

* * *

As Lizzy prepared herself for bed that night, and poured herself a hefty draught of laudanum in her glass of wine, she contemplated over the sheer lunacy of the mornings events. The day so full of contradictions, had seen her be saved from lurching into one type of madness only to fall headlong into another a mere half hour later. Mr Darcy had bandaged her hands, and for the few moments he was with her had held the broken pieces together. And she had rewarded him, almost rewarded him with a kiss. 

But then how poorly she had fared on her own, Sarah had not been in the study when she had entered, Sarah had not been to back to Hartfield since they had carried David's body out, the servants were adamant on that point. The room had been cleaned, made spotless in fact, but certainly not by a half-crazed maid.

So Lizzy had imagined it all. As she gulped the last of the wine, she lay back on the bed and waited to sleep and pray chance not to dream. The guilt would kill her, she thought as a restless slumber promised to carry her away for the night, she was sure of it.


	8. The Well Meant Intervention

_A/N: A new chapter at last, sorry for the delay._

**Part 8- 'The well-meant intervention….'  
**

Thankfully, taking the full advantage of the bed rest the doctor had prescribed saw Jane's fever break. She had sat bolt upright, after three days of incoherence and shouted out her sister's name. But Lizzy was not there, and Mrs Bennet was suitably reluctant to tell her exactly why.

All through her illness, as she had swung between moments of lucid consciousness and delirium Jane had imagined in increasing horror the echoes of Lizzy's words. 'I would take it upon myself…' Jane knew as David had known that Lizzy had taken it upon herself, and despite her sentimental and gentle heart Jane wished with every ounce of her being that she could kill him. She wished vainly to be a gentleman and to take the life of Lord Hartfield, the miserable, wretched and excuse for a man that he was, anything to save her sister from him.

As the days wore on, and stretched in to a lamentable week Jane gradually regained her strength, she received the numerous kind visitors with a gentle smile characteristic of a yet still fragile invalid. The Netherfield lot came and went; and Bingley found to his sorrow that Jane Bennet was not what she once was. Oh she was as beautiful as ever, but infinitely more reserved and quiet. Every sound too loud or too sudden startled her and caused her to jump.

Yes, numerous well wishers came and went but still no Lizzy. Nobody had seen her for days. The rumours circling Meryton, no doubt industriously circulated by the servants spoke of Lady Hartfield's continued mental deterioration. It was said she spent her time locked alone in her bedroom, eating very little and content to spend her days in a laudanum filled haze. She was refusing to receive guests, though no one could have blamed her for turning the Netherfield sisters away.

Darcy would have done well to hide his concern and desperate desire for news of Lizzy; it would have saved him no end of sneers and contemptuous looks from Miss Bingley. But try as he might he could not disguise the fact he was sick with worry, he saw her still with bleeding hands and could not shake the thought that she would hurt herself again.

And as the days slowly crept on Darcy could not bear the suspense much longer, after a ridiculously short consideration and personal debate he set out, after another restless night early the next morning with the precise intention of calling on Lady Hartfield and to see her, whether she consented to it or not.

But his resolution was cut short, in the most convenient and pleasant way. About halfway into the lengthy road between Meryton and Longbourn, Darcy had the immense surprise of seeing Lady Hartfield. She had not yet seen him; she was stood with her back to him in some thickets on the side of the road. It offered her the perfect concealment, Darcy would have missed seeing her himself had not his thoughts been filled with her. She was talking with someone, and Darcy in a moment of anger and jealousy at first suspected it to be a lover, or other private confidence of some kind.

Uniquely light of foot, he crept closer to hear and see… his relief on spying exactly who Lady Hartfield's companion was immense. Jane! And only her sister, Jane. He was turning to leave, happy that the sisters had found their way to reconciliation at last, when his deftness of foot deserted him and he stepped on a twig. He cursed his stupidity as both ladies turned to the sound suddenly, pale-faced and afraid.

He turned back towards them ashamed that he should have been caught spying and blushed deeply as he faced them. Lady Hartfield spoke first.

She smiled as she stepped out of the shadows, 'It seems we have been discovered Jane…'

'Forgive me…'Darcy bowed slightly, 'I did not mean to intrude, and certainly not to startle you.' He looked particularly at Jane, she was shaking and he was mortified he could have been the cause of any distress to so delicate a creature.

Lizzy turned to Jane as well; she went to her and taking Jane's hand in her own still addressed Darcy, 'You have caught us at somewhat of an impasse sir, you see Jane will not go to Hartfield, understandably, and I cannot go to Longbourn, so we are forced to meet here by the side of deserted roads, at an unearthly hour and in heavy thickets. Not like sisters at all, but rather like thieves…' her voice trailed off and Darcy could see she spoke with some difficulty.

He felt for her acutely, he knew something of sisterly love; he could never have borne to be separated for long from Georgiana, his understanding their difficulty was suddenly struck with a charming notion.

'What about Netherfield..?' He suddenly declared, and smiled broadly at both ladies quizzical expression. Lizzy stepped towards him again.

'What do you mean Mr Darcy?' His voice had betrayed something of a hope.

'Netherfield is decidedly neutral is it not? You both could meet there, pre-arranged of course. I'm sure Mr Bingley would be willing, nay happy to be of use and to let his property be of use…' His smile deepened at the clear joy the prospect had brought to Jane, and more especially Lizzy.

'That would be as well would it not Jane…? More than well, for it would afford the perfect opportunity to converse with Miss Darcy at long last as well…' Jane merely nodded her approval of the scheme.

Darcy was pleased that she would think of his sister, Georgiana had been right; Lady Hartfield was not like the rest. 'Well, what do you say we make our way over there now?' he gestured in the direction of Netherfield and the sisters linking arms, were only too glad to follow.

They walked quietly and contentedly, such pleasant company as their three was, dearly sought but rarely found. They could be content with saying little, and listen instead to the crunch of the road underneath their boots. Listen and be content that at last there was a direction, a way through had been found once more.

Lady Hartfield felt enough at ease with Mr Darcy to relate to him how the account of her laudanum filled days had been merely stories, carefully concocted and instigated by a servant she trusted in the house to ensure visitors would be few and that she would be able to escape the house without attracting too much attention.

It was then that Darcy noted for the first time Lady Hartfield's dress, instead of the silks and heavy embroidery she should have been wearing, she was dressed simply in a gown that looked no more expensive than Jane's. Her bonnet was obscenely large for her face, purposely so he realised, for if she walked with her head bowed she would by all appearances be no more noticeable than the average Meryton villager.

Darcy smiled at her ingenuity, it was no less than he would expect from his resourceful Lady Hartfield.

They had not been walking long, when the sound of a carriage approaching them at no great distance made them stop short. They were at a blind turn in the road, they would see the carriage before it could see them, as they moved to the side they collectively held a bated breath.

The livery of the carriage determined instant recognition and reaction from the three. Jane whimpered slightly and standing yet further back from the road, began to shake; Lizzy was at once by her side holding her arm to steady her. Darcy instinctively took his place stood in front of the two ladies, defensively.

Lord Hartfield had returned. And he had seen them now, they could not turn back. The carriage was brought to an abrupt halt in front of them. Lord Hartfield alighted from the carriage and stood surveying them all a while before he spoke.

When he did at last speak it was through a smile Lizzy well knew the meaning of. 'Mr Darcy…' he greeted him with a nod of the head Darcy only just deigned to return, he stepped forward and offered his widest smile yet to Jane, 'Miss Bennet…' he was cruel enough to know something of the fear he inspired in her and to enjoy the power he held over her.

He did at last turn his eye to his wife; he neither smiled or spoke, and instead extended his arm and offered an open hand for her to take. Lizzy pressed Jane's arm reassuringly, but as she attempted to step forward Jane grasped her hand desperately and forcefully, refusing to let her go. Lizzy bestowed a kiss on her cheek and a warm embrace before prying her sisters fingers from her grasp and moving forward to take the hand of her husband.

She had to step around Mr Darcy to reach Lord Hartfield; he was still stood protectively in front of the ladies. As she placed a gloved hand in Philip's and was led to the carriage, she turned to offer Darcy and Jane one last smile. Darcy interpreted her look of concern for her sister at once, 'You may rest assured your Ladyship, I would be honoured to escort Miss Bennet back to Longbourn.'

'Thank you…' her eyes meeting his briefly betrayed the sentiments she could not speak in front of her husband.

Darcy could do no more than turn and offer his arm to Jane for support as they both stood watching the carriage roll away.

* * *

'She does not love him you know, she never has and she never will.…' Jane Bennet's words caught Darcy by surprise. She spoke resolutely, her initial shock at seeing Lord Hartfield had abated somewhat though for the past ten minutes she had done nothing but study her feet as they walked slowly in the direction of Longbourn. 

But she looked up at Darcy with an earnest, studied expression, Darcy knew what to make of her words, he blushed and stopped walking confused.

'Miss Bennet, I do not think it is my place to comment…' His place…what did that entail? It had not been his place to fall in love with a Lady Hartfield, but he had done so all the same.

Jane smiled, 'I have seen the way you look at her Mr Darcy, and it is the way I had long hoped a gentleman worthy of her would look at her.' Darcy's embarrassment at her words increased. He did not know where to look.

'Is it is so painfully obvious?' He asked her in a small voice, he had not been aware he had betrayed his sentiments so foolishly. He had always prized himself of his show of restraint, but to be made out so easily, and to be made out as a love sick pup was humiliating.

'Only to those who care to see it…' Jane reassured him. She sighed and shook her head, 'My sister has sacrificed so much, and yet she suffers still. And now even my mother has turned her back on her. Yet I think I feel it more than Lizzy does.' Darcy asked her for an explanation.

'It is not her fault; you see Lizzy was so young, she has never known a sentiment, a true attachment. She is kind enough to me, a sisterly love is a given, it is natural, but I do not think her heart has ever been touched. The circumstance has rendered her cold. My words seem harsh I know, but I have too high a regard and respect for you to allow you to be content in ignorant bliss, you will find your attachment will be neither reciprocated nor welcomed.'

Darcy was amazed at her words; she knew what he was thinking, she continued.

'One cannot place blame; fate has played a cruel game with her. At the time of life when ones character is determined by those who surround and shape our worldly views, she was surrounded by Lord Hartfield. Do not mistake me Mr Darcy, my loyalty to my sister is, and always will be beyond question, but, and though it pains me to say it, she _is _ cold. When our father died, it was the last true attachment she had ever had, and she let that part of her die with him. It is the reason she has endured Lord Hartfield even thus long, a lesser, more feeling soul would have taken more desperate measures long ago…but his Lordship is a fool if he thinks he will ever have more than a cursory feeling from Lizzy.'

His confusion grew, what did she mean by revealing the strictest intimacies of her sister's nature to a relative stranger such as he was? 'Do you mean to warn me, Miss Bennet, against forming an attachment to your sister?'

Jane looked seriously at him, 'Oh no, if anything I mean to encourage you, a challenge if you will. You have already awoken something in her; perhaps you can tease something of an attachment from her. But do not be fooled, she will never allow sentiment to get in the way of duty, that will always come first. And make no mistake, Mr Darcy; she will break your heart, she does not know any better.'

Darcy simply stared, was this the feeling Jane Bennet that Bingley had fallen in love with, she certainly was not showing herself as such, her words he deemed deliberately cutting. What did she mean by encouraging and warning him in the same breath? But at length he was forced to allow her sensible words to work their affect. Had he not always suspected as much here it was confirmed by those closest to her, Lady Hartfield _was _ cold, and whether it was circumstance, or a fundamental flaw in her nature that rendered her such, the fact could not be denied.

She would break his heart.

They arrived within view of Longbourn at last, 'Be careful Mr Darcy…' Jane spoke as she took her leave of him, 'I stated it was only painfully obvious to those who cared to see it, and Lord Hartfield will certainly care to see it. And if he suspects the slightest attachment from either of you…believe me, you may rest assured he will punish Lizzy with a certain degree of pleasure.'

* * *

Lizzy sat back in the carriage; she avoided looking towards Lord Hartfield even as she was aware of his eyes regarding her curiously. She was looking out of the window still when he came and sat beside her. He sat close, and leaning close breathed in deep the scent of her. 

She neither moved, nor turned to look at him. He took her chin forcefully in his own hand and turned her to face him. Her dark eyes flashed with the fire he so vividly remembered, smiling he began to untie the ribbons of her bonnet and proceeded to remove it carefully.

'It is rather early for a morning walk is it not? And how fortunate for both you and your sister to have such an able protector at such a solitary hour…' He was referring to Darcy she knew, but Lizzy held her chin up proudly and waited patiently as he dropped the bonnet on the carriage floor and rearranged her shaken curls. His tone carried the faintest hint of menace, but she had done nothing wrong, he had nothing to accuse her of.

'Mr Darcy happened upon us as we were walking, it was nothing more than coincidence.'

His smile faded, and his hand travelled down from her chin and came to rest heavily on her shoulder, exerting the faintest of pressure. 'A happy coincidence…?'

Lizzy wanted nothing more but to smile widely at him and declare it the happiest of coincidences, but she saw the foolishness in uttering such rash words and setting her expression in cold indifference stated, 'A coincidence, nothing more.'

He seemed satisfied with her reply, and returned his hand to exploring her face. He brushed his fingers lightly against her lips, traced the contours of her jaw and down along the line of her graceful neck.

'I missed you…' He leant close and whispered in her ear. She cringed inwardly at his proximity, but resolutely kept her place. She smiled disdainfully at him, 'Do you truly expect me to believe your side and your bed was empty in London my Lord?'

'I missed your wit and your sharp words…' He smiled and murmured in return, and began bestowing soft kisses on her neck just below the ear; still she stayed resolutely just as she was.

'I cannot confess to being surprised to hear your various 'companions' cannot add the art of good conversation to their varied repertories, but I'm sure their other talents more than compensated for any thing lacking…'

Suddenly he gripped the back of her neck tightly, she winced in pain as he increased the pressure and pulled her head back. He was angry, 'Must you oppose me at every turn?' He spat the words at her.

He looked deep into her eyes, she was unflinching and unbowed. He released her neck and suddenly gripped her arm tightly above the wrist, he pulled her hands towards him and she watched in growing horror as he began to wrest the gloves from her hands. She tried to offer some resistance, and pulled her hands back, but he merely tightened his grip. He undid the buttons and peeled them away, to reveal the bandages, the same bandages Darcy had so lovingly applied, and that she wore still and had hidden away beneath the gloves.

He smiled triumphantly at her, and held them up accusingly, 'Did he sit close, like this?' He moved his knee to touch hers, 'And tell me what did the generous Lady Hartfield offer as a reward to her devoted revolutionary…?' He began to undo the bandages, tearing at them crudely and roughly.

'Did you really think I wouldn't find out? Never underestimate the value of a good servant my lady…'

Spies, of course she ought to have known.

She tried vainly to pull her hands back, but every time she resisted his grip tightened and became more painful. She watched helpless as the strips of cloth found their way to the carriage floor, falling in soft piles. Until at last there lay her hands, bare and exposed; palm upwards, the sight of them brought an unusual sort of calm to what had been Philip's gathering rage.

The sight of the numerous cuts on her hands, healing but still painful and red affected him deeply. He looked at them a while and then at her.

'It was nothing, an accident…' sShe answered the question growing in his eyes. His expression softened and in an act of tenderness as sudden as his violent action had been, he lifted her hands to his face and kissed the palms softly.

He pulled her close and pressed her against his shoulder in a crushing embrace, 'You know how much I dislike hurting you, my darling Lizzy…'

She shut her ears against his growing murmurs of sentiment and instead focused her gaze on the pile of discarded bandages, and the man who had so gently applied them.

* * *

Lord Hartfield had returned with guests, a few gentlemen who had accompanied him from London. She found all three gentlemen awaiting her and Lord Hartfield's arrival, and as she was quite unsuitably dressed to receive guests, she hurried away to change. As her husband entered the room where they waited, she heard them make a passing remark about his lateness; the reply produced a lewd laugh from all concerned. 

It was only until she had reached her room that she realised she had no maid to help her dress, the past week she had managed on her own with the simple gowns she had worn as a disguise, and besides the whole household believed her to be holed up in her room already. Aside from leaving trays of food at her door as per her instruction, very little had been seen of her all week, no wonder then that some of the servant stared as they passed her on the stairs. She realised how acutely she missed Sarah, but thoughts of Sarah threatened to bring forth the nightmares once again.

She decided to call for a maid once she entered her room, but there was no need. As soon as she opened the door, there stood a young, neat looking woman. She stood by the window with her hands folded neatly behind her back. She curtsied, 'Your Ladyship, I am Millicent Langford; I will be your new maid.' She spoke matter of factly and Lizzy although amazed at her audacity, was forced to concede. She knew at once, this woman's employment had been the work of his Lordship. She would have no say in the matter. Yet another spy…? She wondered.

* * *

The gentlemen stood as Lizzy entered the room; she found them as objectionable as any other of her husband's acquaintance. The eldest gentleman of forty, Sir Richard Purvis, the notorious gambler who would bet on anything and everything, the young earl Lord Henry Chaston, easily influenced and easily led. His mother was sure to have cursed the day he had sought an acquaintance with the infamous Lord Hartfield. It was rumoured the poor boy was losing something close to a fortune almost weekly at the faro tables and the hell houses that Lord Hartfield and Sir Purvis Richard had introduced him to. And there was another gentleman, one she did not recognise, a Mr Collins. He was clearly uncomfortable, by no means a man of consequence or immense wealth like the titled Lords in whose company he found himself, Lizzy wondered at his being acquired into this set at all. 

She soon found out the whole, Mr Collins was in essence no better than the likes of Caroline Bingley, he was seeking to climb out of his station. His assiduous compliments and constant bowing, Lizzy soon ascertained were a source of cruel amusement to Lord Hartfield and Lord Chaston. They had adopted him as a pet project almost solely for their mirth. Lizzy was torn between feeling disgusted by Mr Collins blind veneration of these men and feeling quite sorry that he could so easily fooled.

Lizzy sought to resign herself to taking a place in the chair at the furthest corner of room, and resolutely avoiding conversation with the room and people in whose company she could never find pleasure. But their exchange did catch her interest; they were talking about the Netherfield residents.

Apparently Sir Purvis Richard knew something of Bingley and his friend. 'Bingley is amusing enough, but for some reason uniquely loyal to that revolutionary frog of his, Darcy isn't it? Neither could really hold much estimationdistinction, the sons of mill owners and tradesmen…'

Lizzy had been listening with a growing anger, and could contain herself no longer, 'And of course Sir Richard, what other man could deserve such round condemnation than the one who has had the audacity to commit the offence of earning his living and not inheriting it.' She made her way to the door, 'If you would excuse me gentleman…'

As she walked quickly, Sir Purvis Richard stepped in her way, he bowed low and she stopped. He smiled and she extended her hand, he placed a small kiss on her fingers, he held her hand a while, all the time keeping a wary eye on Lord Hartfield. 'It is refreshing to see your Ladyship, that you have lost none of your wit, or your charms.'

She smiled sweetly in return, 'and how is your wife Sir, Lady Anne Purvis…?' She watched as his smile faded, Lizzy knew that remark would rile him. Sir Purvis Richard had married purely to cover his mounting gambling debts and Lady Purvis though remarkably rich was had no very great beauty to speak of.

But it was Sir Richard Purvis that she would have to studiously avoid. He had made no effort to disguise the fact that he was remarkably jealous of his old friend Lord Hartfield, with particular regards to his good fortune in wife.


	9. A Few Choice Words

_A/N: I love reading your reviews and your varied reactions to the story, from horror to addiction! Thankyou all for taking the time to read and review, I hope you enjoy this latest chapter, not much action but a very telling dinner party. _

_And to Stranger12, a soft spot for Lord Hartfield? I must admit I enjoy writing him, but you must be the first reviewer I've met who hasn't wished to tie him to the stake! Seeing as how he's going to get decidedly worse I wonder if your opinion will change._

* * *

**Part 9- 'A few choice words…'  
**

Yes, the evening had begun simply enough. They had been invited to dine at Hartfield and although Darcy had been at first reluctant, given the conversation he had had with Jane only that morning, he found he could have little resistance to offer against Georgiana's excitement. Youth is a remarkable thing; it takes unpleasant thoughts and memories and places them far at the back of the mind. Where once Georgiana would have been horrified at the idea of dining at a place someone had been killed, now at the prospect of a personal invitation from Lady Hartfield, her enthusiasm was unbridled. When we are young we fear nothing for very long. It is only when we grow older, when the mind is too full of things it ought not to have seen that it grows dark and afraid.

But before the evening was through Darcy would be glad he had put his reservations aside, for it soon became apparent he would be learning something new of the woman he loved, the woman Miss Bennet had convinced him would break his heart.

* * *

In all truth, Lizzy had not invited the Darcy's or the Bingley's to dine, the notion had been all Lord Hartfield's. He had convinced her to provide some form of entertainment for the trio from London, and the Netherfield lot were to be it. She suspected and feared that he still harboured still some suspicions with regards to Darcy, and in an effort to spare both herself and him, she endeavoured to be merely polite to Darcy and nothing else. Thus when he entered she spoke to him only briefly, and though he never expected very much more, but it pained him all the same. 

'Your Ladyship…' he began tentatively, 'I hope you are well?' He was stood quite close, and as he leaned into her, Lizzy looked up briefly into the expression clouding his eyes and caught her breath.

She endeavoured to answer him with a steady voice, 'Very well thank you Mr Darcy.'

But he was not ready to move away yet, he looked down at her hands, one folded neatly atop the other, and noted with some alarm that she had removed the bandages. It seemed the simplest of things yet for some reason the action cut him to the core. She had removed the bandages, _his_ bandages; it appeared to say that she was dismissing him, that she no longer needed him. _'She will break your heart' _suddenlythe words seemed to have gained an added pathos.

Lizzy saw what he was thinking, 'They're healing now, and are a lot better, you must know I couldn't very well wear them any longer without fear of impugning questions…'

Of course, her reasoning was perfectly sound, but it hurt all the same. Darcy held her gaze for a while, before painfully nodding his head and walking away.

Lizzy looked after him with a wistful gaze, until she caught the eye of her husband, at which she coldly shrugged and turned to her other guests. Jane had been wrong about her sister, Lizzy was capable of attachment, and her heart could be touched. And it had been, by Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, the penniless revolutionary from the distant North, who had been here barely a month.

The revelation heaped itself upon her, as soon as she had perceived that look in his eye; it was what had caused her sharp intake of breath. She knew then that he loved her. What a strange sensation it was, frightening in its entirety and exhilarating in its effects, to know that a man could feel for her as passionately as all that.

But she also knew there was nothing to be done about it, she was married. She resented him then, Mr Darcy, who could claim no right to involve them both in this misery, a love without a purpose, without hope. The futility of their situation would break both their hearts.

* * *

The dinner passed off better than Lizzy could have hoped, every dish was done to perfection, the soup, the bird, and everything else culinary was delightful. Lizzy herself ate little; it took all her reserve to keep her eyes from wandering to where Darcy sat. 

As the hostess she sat naturally sat at the head of the table with Lord Hartfield opposite her. Sir Richard was sat at her right hand, ready with conversation for her and nobody else, whilst on her left hand sat Georgiana. Lizzy had specifically expressed her wish for Darcy's sister to remain close, not only as a compliment to the young girl but because Georgiana reminded her in some way of her own sisters, Lydia and Kitty in particular. Though the two younger Bennet sisters had more in the way of boisterousness than Miss Darcy, they were close in age and for a little while Lizzy could imagine her own once happy family unit were close by.

The rest of the party arranged themselves in their own particular arrangements and it was with pity that Lizzy noted that through a cruel twist of fate Darcy had ended up sandwiched between Miss Bingley and Mr Collins. He was of course aware of his unfortunate position and was divided between a mutual intense dislike for the lady on his left, but a growing nausea for the obsequiousness grovelling of the man on his right. But he was spared somewhat, for his impoverishment rendered him immune to the attentions of either. There were other wealthy personages around the table to attract the delights and lavish praises of both Miss Bingley and Mr Collins.

For Caroline Bingley, the night brought along with it the notion that she had finally arrived. It was well known that the Hartfields rarely hosted dinner parties, and certainly not intimate, small ones such as this. Caroline felt justified in all the pains she had taken to court Lady Hartfield's good opinion, given that she was now, just as she predicted, being thrown into the path of rich, young men. She talked as lively and abundantly as possible, and no doubt to her pleasure, would have been delighted to know that, had a stranger happened on the party just then, they would have been hard pressed not to mistake her for the hostess. Sir Richard, being close at hand bore the brunt of her courtesy, and as insistent as he was on speaking only to Lady Hartfield, Caroline was equally insistent on talking only to him.

The fact of the matter remained, she had no reservations with regards to his wife, given she had had none where Lord Hartfield was concerned with Lady Hartfield being in the neighbourhood at the same time; the fact that Lady Anne Purvis was in another part of the country altogether, was a prospect too opportunistic to pass upon.

Lord Hartfield had shown no further interest in her, and given Sir Richard's wealth, although no match for the Lord's was sufficient. She was sure that by the end of the evening she would have come to a discreet and pleasant arrangement with Sir Richard.

Lord Chaston would have been the preferred choice for Caroline Bingley of course but he was too young, and it soon became clear all too interested in Georgiana Darcy. She spoke little to him, but every time she did it seemed the boy lit up with a smile Lizzy found amusing. She had known the young earl for a few years now, since Lord Hartfield had introduced them in London, and she had rarely seen him thus interested in anything other than cards or gambling. Georgiana Darcy had most decidedly caught the eye of young Lord Chaston!

Lizzy was not surprised; Georgiana with her fair hair, and large blue eyes wore a simple demure gown of powder blue, it showed her figure off most advantageously, and Lizzy was sure that had it not been for their unfortunate circumstances, Miss Darcy would have long been happily married. But as it was, Lord Chaston's interest in her sparked something of interest around the table, and none more so than her brother. But Darcy was not looking at the earl with a favourable eye; rather he tried vainly and failed miserably to disguise his anger.

Lizzy could understand his reservations; Lord Chaston's reputation had suffered as a result of his friendship with Lord Hartfield, what had been assumed to be the failings of one man were seen to be incumbent in the other; Lord Chaston was tainted by association. Whatever his wealth was, a man who loved his sister as dearly as Darcy clearly loved Georgiana would never consent to her being courted by so dubious a character. However, it was equally clear to see, that though Georgiana made no attempts to encourage him, Lord Chaston's continued and clear efforts towards her, added a most becoming flush to her cheeks and lustre to her eyes.

Lizzy was sorry for them, certainly there was much improvement to be made in Lord Chaston before he could ever be deserving as so loyal a creature as Georgiana Darcy, but they were improvements that could be easily attended to. And the love of a woman as devoted as Georgiana and absolute removal from the influence of Lord Hartfield would certainly see the young Earl become a better man.

Lord Hartfield made as a little an effort at conversation as he did to attending to what others said. He chose to study the features of his wife instead; the incident in the carriage had troubled him somewhat. His hurting her was unfortunate, her hurting herself, well that was something new entirely. As for her thoughts towards this Darcy, he thought it was more telling that however vainly she was attempting to keep her eyes averted from his side of the table, the conscious effort of doing so made her eyes drawn to him all the same.

Although Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy was although irksome, Lord Hartfield was determined to ensure he proved no threat. Lady Hartfield would come to see Darcy only in the way Lord Hartfield approved.

He as equally astute as his wife, and keenly aware of Georgiana Darcy's presence, likewise noted the curious way her brother regarded Lord Chaston, and he smiled slightly, well, well he thought, if he disapproved of Lord Chaston…

* * *

The evening brought on a more intellectual turn of conversation, and was rather surprisingly instigated by Mr Collins. He had declared to Miss Bingley's praise of a certain young lady's accomplished musical ability, that he thought all young ladies to be accomplished. 

Mr Bingley who had been generally all to quiet through out the evening agreed with him. He had not intended to speak and certainly had no wish to even accept an invitation from the man he blamed for Miss Bennet's recent illness. But Caroline had pressed and forced him to concede that if he ever wished to gain the affections of one sister he had yet still to court the good opinion of Lady Hartfield, something he could only do if he attended their dinners.

And so he came and lent his voice to the discussion, 'I think you must be right Mr Collins, for I have not heard of a young lady spoken of, when it was not said that she could paint tables, cover screens, net purses and the like.'

'And have attained that innumerable and immeasurable quality of sitting quietly by windows with folded hands and letting the world pass them by.' Lady Hartfield's voice cut in through their thoughts, the whole table looked up at her in general surprise.

Lord Hartfield knew what was to come, and he smiled in anticipation, it was many a time where he had sat back amused when his wife stumped men and disgusted women with her views on social and political reform. He was surprisingly liberal with her when it came to discussions of this sort, in truth he loved nothing more than a lively discussion with his wife on politics across a busy dinner table, and the shock caused at this flouting of etiquette gave him great pleasure.

And he knew from where this busy mind such observations and notions flowed, and why. He knew why Lady Hartfield took particular interest in her dame school, and how she was more than once condemned for teaching against the Church principle by stating that men and women were equal.

And he knew why she spoke with such passion. Inevitably the whole stemmed from her particular situation. Though she could not change the law that bound her to him, though she could not free herself, she would work hard to free others, politically, socially, morally and to ensure free thought for all, including women.

Sir Richard laughed outright, and all eyes turned to him for an explanation for Lady Hartfields words, he looked upon Lizzy with a sparkling smile and an expression close to adoration. He turned to look at Mr Collins, still laughing.

'Oh Mr Collins, you poor man, little do you know what you are about or what you have started.' Lord Hartfield and Lord Chaston joined in the mirth much to the bemusement of the rest of the table.

Lizzy smiled a little herself, 'Really gentleman it does not behove well that you would think I would berate a relative stranger with my views on the world and its general ills.'

Sir Richard turned back to her smiling still, 'Oh but you will your Ladyship, and we very well know you will. You will no doubt begin with the emancipation of slaves and what a marvellous thing that was…'

Here Lord Chaston took up, 'And you will move on to the dire need for greater transparency, the need for better men of a wide standing social status to overcome corruption in Parliament, and not merely by increasing the number of country members in proportion to town members, as our esteemed Prime Minister would have us believe…'

The final word belonged to Lord Hartfield, 'And then my Lady, you will expound the vindication of rights, the need for free thought and expression, and an affirmation for equality and not merely justice.'

They all laughed now, and even Lizzy spoke through a tell tale blush and smile, I had not realised gentleman that I had become yet so predictable in my speeches, or the cause of such amusement. It appears the three of you have made quite a study of my character, I suppose it ought to be taken as a compliment.'

Here Darcy could not help but intercede, 'By all means your Ladyship take heart, for it is only the most intricate of characters that warrant such close study and are the most amusing.'

Lizzy looked earnestly at him, 'Then Mr Darcy, it appears I have the best advantage sir, as I have provided these gentleman with such hearty mirth.'

Darcy replied with a look and a voice as earnest, 'It is not the best of views or opinions that are met with open arms, it is forever within mans' nature to reject that which it could only benefit him to hear. It is no doubt why progress and reformation is so very slow, often the sanest and most rationale of minds can be dismissed by those who do not choose to understand them.'

Sir Richard began again, 'And her Ladyship has that habit of making sure she is misunderstood, within which she takes great pleasure I am certain. Really,' he leaned forward towards her, 'I believe you would be a celebrated 'first-rater' in town if only you would take to engaging with the London Ton instead of insulting them with your frequent cut-downs.'

Darcy smiled, he could readily imagine what Lady Hartfield would have to say about the London Ton, and despite himself he found the feeling of a strong, unmovable attachment to her returning. 'Perhaps it is because her Ladyship is aware of the great vantage and responsibility her position bears.'

'Do you presume to know my wife so well than Mr Darcy…?' Lord Hartfield cut in with a dark tone; he was tired of this mans constant attempts to defend _his _ wife.

Darcy was not afraid of Lord Hartfield, but he had enough sense to know that any overt display of affection on his side for her Ladyship would only bring pain and danger for her, '_Lord Hartfield will certainly see it if he chooses to.'  
_

'Not at all your Lordship,' he offered his most acquiescent tone, though it rendered him nauseous to have to do so, 'I only meant that society in general was apt to attend to the words of a Lady Hartfield more readily than the average or common young man or woman.'

Lord Hartfield smiled cruelly, 'Such as the average and common Mr Darcy?'

Darcy forced himself to remain unresponsive, 'Yes,' he simply replied, 'much more than the average Mr Darcy, and though I am perhaps a little more outspoken and radical in my views they are no doubt dismissed as easily as the rest.'

The table fell silent, Lizzy was the most uncomfortable for Darcy more than anyone else, it troubled her the way Lord Hartfield insisted on persecuting him, and she could not help but think that it was all for her benefit.

In an effort to ease the tension, and the heavy gloom that had descended on the room, she turned back to the question that had started it all. 'With regards to your earlier observation Mr Collins, what do you deem to be the truly accomplished lady?'

He smiled widely at her, glad to be noticed again, and began with a superior tone, 'The accomplished woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing and the modern languages.'

Caroline Bingley who wanted to give the appearance of taking part in an intelligent conversation, but in truth deemed the present company had been deprived of her voice for far too long, concluded 'And to all this she must yet add with her possession of a certain something in her air, her manner of walking, her address and her expression.' She arched her neck and no doubt felt herself remarkably close in every sense to the woman she had just so aptly described.

Darcy could not help but add his own word, with an amused expression, 'I would have thought such a woman hardly existed, to be able to combine such talents so effortlessly, and if she did I would have thought she would have the sense to realise there is yet something more substantial to be added, in the improvement of her mind, say, by extensive reading.' Caroline glared at him, whilst Lizzy tried vainly to stifle a laugh.

'Miss Darcy here is a wonderful hand at the pianoforte,' Caroline trained her eye sardonically at Darcy as she spoke, 'though I am sorry to say she has had little opportunity for practice at Netherfield as our instrument has not yet arrived, you must hear her your Lordship…' She addressed Lord Chaston who was all too happy to press his request.

Lord Hartfield suddenly laughed outright, Lizzy looked on him with a hesitating eye, and she wondered what he had planned next. 'It will not do to talk of fine women's accomplishments where Lady Hartfield is concerned Collins I assure you, _she_ would have a poor defence,' his voice dripped with the faintest hint of menace, 'for I promise you she nets purses poorly, embroiders cushions with a far worse attack, will not attempt at decorating a table, and plays her instrument very ill indeed.'

Lizzy stared at him, she could feel herself blush from head to foot, the expressions of her guests did nothing to allay her embarrassment, of those who could look up at her, Darcy and Caroline, she wondered whose look she found the most reproachful, the pitiful gaze of the first or the triumphant gloat of the latter?

She smiled sweetly at her husband, 'While I thank you your Lordship for your able defence of my good name, I must accede that you are quite right. I do all of those things remarkably ill, and it is true, my fingers do not move over the instrument in the same masterly way as I have seen so many women's do. They do not have the same force of stroke or rapidity, and no doubt they produce a very different sound, but it is my own fault entirely, though it is not because I think my fingers any the less capable, it is because I would not take the trouble of practising.'

Darcy was once more ready for her defence, 'It is because you have employed your time much better, I am sure anybody admitted to the pleasure of hearing you would not think anything wanting,' he almost whispered his next words, 'You are perhaps one of those who does not perform for strangers.'

Lizzy smiled, 'I think we… neither of us do.' For a moment Lizzy forgot herself and bestowed upon Darcy one of those smiles he coveted so much. But a quick flicker of her eyes offered her the frightening prospect of her husband's darkening aspect, and she soon remembered her position.

Lizzy spoke hurriedly, she laughed nervously, 'The material point remains in any case that however accomplished a young lady may become, none uses their talents to the best advantage. A woman's mind is as sharp as any man's, if only she would be allowed to employ those talents as publicly and to the best use of society, but our populace in general is incumbent at suppressing such abilities and abhors the very idea of anything approaching such equality.'

Sir Richard thought it best to bring the subject to a close, he too had noted the dark way in which Lord Hartfield was regarding his wife, and he was well aware of how ill he treated the lovely Lady Hartfield, 'You are quite right your ladyship, and your mind is certainly as sharp as any man's, sharper sometimes I believe…' he raised his glass and drew the tables attention to Mr Hurst who was by now well on his way to being happily drunk.

But Lord Hartfield was by no means done, turning to Darcy he addressed him again, 'never mind the intricacies of my wife's character Mr Darcy surely your story is the more interesting, Sir Richard here can claim a prior acquaintance with you I believe.'

Lizzy who had sworn to henceforth keep her eyes fixed on the table in front of her suddenly shot a glance upwards. Darcy knew Sir Richard, but how, and why had neither of them made any indication of it? She recalled nothing to betray a hint of familiarity or a former acquaintance from either of them.

Sir Richard smiled knowingly, and suddenly Lizzy realised that he must have anticipated and planned the whole with her husband, and she grew afraid. Sir Richard sipped his wine, 'Yes I recall Mr Darcy when he was younger. I believe it was soon after you left school, you had not yet entered your father's business, I recall you kept the most interesting company then. An assortment of French philosophers I think, and there was one amongst that group I particularly remember, a charming liberal young French woman, by the name of…' Lizzy watched horrified as Darcy turned an angry shade paler, all eyes were trained on him as Sir Richard tried dramatically to recall the name of the mysterious woman, '…oh yes, Marguerite was it not?'

Given the way Darcy looked and the triumphant tone of Sir Richard, no one could be in doubt of the nature of Sir Richard's insinuations; there could be no doubts as to Darcy's relationship with this Marguerite.

Lizzy stood up suddenly; she intended to lead the ladies out to the drawing room, Georgiana's look of growing horror at what was being implied as her brother's lack of moral standing was painful to watch. But she could not help regard her husband angrily before she did so; he had of course planned it all. 'Gentlemen I hardly think this is a subject suitable for the dinner table.'

Lord Hartfield smiled up at her cruelly, 'and why not your Ladyship? If we can flout convention so far as to talk of politics surely we can loosen our tongues a little further?'

But Darcy found his own voice at last, and though it shook with anger, his meaning was clear enough. He even smiled a little as he spoke, but his eyes were ablaze.

'And I recall you Sir Richard, but for me it is more than a passing acquaintance. I remember my father reciting to me that you dined at the Darcy table, and that more particularly _you _ were one of those who advised him against giving a rise to the workers.'

Darcy barely took a breath before he continued, 'And I also recall sir that you were _not_ one of those present when we pulled his body from the smouldering rubble as a result of the riots that ensued, nor were you present when we buried him. But more particularly sir, I recall your absence when those of us left behind were in need of help.' He finished at last, and the room fell silent.

Lizzy was tired of them all, her only concern now was for Miss Darcy, the poor girl looked mortified at the nature of so personal attack on her brother. Lizzy took the younger girl by the hand, and spoke coldly, 'Perhaps it is time we removed ourselves to the drawing room ladies, we may leave the gentleman to talk on politics, or anything else they deem appropriate.' The gentleman stood as the ladies rose.

Lord Hartfield raised his glass to her as she made her way to the door, 'You give us too much credit your Ladyship, no doubt we will talk of everything trivial, nothing of great import and no doubt end up drinking more wine than we should.'

Lizzy eyed him coldly, 'No doubt your Lordship, but gentlemen,' here she addressed the whole room, 'be so kind as to justify our confidence in at least one of you, and allow us to hope that you may be endowed with that uncommon ability to speak as much sense _after_ a few glasses of wine as before.'

'We will but try your Ladyship…' Sir Richard bowed dramatically. Lizzy saved her particular glower for him.


	10. The Casting Of Long Shadows

_A/N: A foreboding of things to come in this chapter I'm afraid, and though Etar I'm glad you like Lady Elizbeth Hartfield and find her charming, she's still capable of making some huge mistakes. Enjoy!_**  
**

** Part 10- 'The casting of long shadows…'  
**

Not one left the dinner with any modicum of satisfaction, save perhaps Mr Hurst who only ever required an overflowing decanter of wine to remain content. For the rest, there was little to offer in the way of comfort.

The Netherfield lot's drive home was most telling, Darcy chose to stare sullenly out of the window, Bingley hardly knew where to look, and was only aware of the acute embarrassment of his close friend and the extent to which he had missed Miss Jane Bennet's company. Even Caroline, who ordinarily would have found much mirth to be had in Darcy's exposure, sighed and huffed instead, the evening, had not ended to her satisfaction, as no pleasant agreement had been reached with Sir Richard. Apparently the gentleman needed further convincing, he had been far too occupied with attending to and failing to make amends with Lady Hartfield. _She_ had stoically ignored him despite his best efforts.

But perhaps the most alarming outcome of the evening was Georgiana's more than usual stern silence. Her colour never returned, she had looked pallid the whole evening, and though she had adhered to Lord Chaston's assertions that she would play the instrument for him, she did so with no apparent enjoyment. As he sat next to her turning the pages, her fingers moved mechanically over the keys, but her playing though accomplished suffered from a distinct lack of conviction.

As Lizzy watched, she noted with growing concern that it appeared Darcy's presence close to the instrument, in a position that allowed him in full hearing view of what Lord Chaston could possibly have to say to his sister, was as unwelcome to Georgiana as Lord Chaston's attention, nay, perhaps even more so. Darcy could not see it, or did not choose to; in his mind's eye he was merely watching over his younger sibling.

His sullenness now as he sat in the carriage, stretched to the extent that he was oblivious to the fact his sister had chosen not to climb in after him but instead had taken the second one in the company of Mrs Hurst and her inebriated husband. It did not occur to Darcy that his sister's once infallible opinion of him had shifted.

* * *

Lizzy sat at her dressing room table, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her head hurt, the dinner could not have been worse, it was too long since she had enjoyed a quiet evening, had there ever been a quiet evening? Yes, home sat at the feet of her dear father, he absorbed in his book and she devoutly adhering to hers. She had never found it difficult to sit quietly and concentrate, certainly not when Mr Bennet was in his chair, and his deep, gentle breathing being the only sound along with the turning of pages to fill the room. It was a reassuring sound, one that she had revelled in, a reminder of his comforting presence. This quiet scene of perpetual bliss always played out in the library, Lizzy's mother and sisters were too fond of conversation to tolerate an educated silence for very long, so it had always been just Lizzy and her father. 

How she longed to be that little girl once more, curled up at the feet of Mr Bennet, far away from the Lord Hartfield's, the Sir Richard's and even the Mr Darcy's whose affection she had done little to encourage and whose good opinion she knew she did not deserve.

She was still sat with her head hidden in her hands when Lord Hartfield chose to make his appearance; he entered through the door connecting their rooms. He never knocked, always choosing to burst in on her. And as always her heart skipped a beat and she shivered in awful anticipation. He came and stood behind her, after looking at her reflection in the mirror for a second he took his hand and ran it alongside her face, before placing both hands heavily on either side of her shoulders.

Exerting the slightest pressure, he prompted her to stand which she did. He directed her away from the table and to the centre of the room, keeping her back to him all the while. He sighed deeply as he began to work the buttons on the back of her gown; Lizzy stood stock still with her hands held tight in front of her. Having loosened the dress enough to roll it down over the tops of her shoulders, he kissed the bare flesh, nuzzling gently and moving his way up to the base of her neck.

She worked hard not to shirk away from his touch, and allow the workings of his tenderness to follow their course. He stopped after a while, and placed his mouth close to her ear, so that every breath was a rush of warm air across her cheek. She could smell the wine on his breath.

'Was he very disappointed…? That you had removed the bandages or rather that I had…?' He whispered, and as Lizzy turned slightly to catch his eye, she knew her next words would mean everything.

In a voice as steady as she could master, she did not dare look away as she answered, 'I would not know my Lord, surely it does not much signify…' Did not signify, however much it would cost her, was costing her, Lord Hartfield could not perceive Darcy as a threat. So it could not and would not signify, Darcy did not signify.

He smiled slightly and turned his attentions to her hair, burying his face deep within her curls before proceeding to remove the pins and ribbons holding the whole look together. He worked deftly and with remarkable precision, and before long her lengthy locks were free and cascading about her shoulders. They stood together a while, the both of them, silent and still. He placed his hands about her arms once more, and this time manoeuvred her in front of the full-length vanity mirror on the far side of the room. Standing behind her, he moved her hair to one side and rested his chin on her shoulder so as to fully study her expression in the glass. Lizzy met his gaze calmly.

He began to kiss the top of her shoulder again before enfolding his arms about her slender waist and pulling her back slightly so that she leaned against him. He brought his lips up to her ear once more, all the while keeping her expression fixed within his gaze in the mirror. 'Do you wish me to stay…?'

Lizzy could not help but be startled by his question and request; after six years of marriage this was the first time he had ever thought to ask. The first time he had ever requested to spend the night, to share her bed.

And almost at once Lizzy ascertained just how much was depending on her answer, she knew as to what his true meaning was with such a request, she knew he was asking her to allay all of his suspicions with regard to Darcy.

'Think very carefully…' he went on, 'this is the first and only time I will ever ask. Do you wish me to stay?'

But whatever her senses urged her to, whatever of reason assured her that this was the very opportunity to free both Darcy and herself from Lord Hartfield's further scrutiny, she could not do it. She could not bring herself, could not reconcile her heart enough to willingly give herself to this man.

'No…' She spoke in a hushed tone, the sound barely carrying itself through the air. But he had heard, and as his features hardened, and the grip around her waist tightened, Lizzy braced herself for the terror she was certain was to follow. But he surprised her, even as she closed her eyes against the feared onslaught; he kissed her cheek briefly and released her.

The next instant he had left, and Lizzy was stood against the door between their rooms, turning the lock and breathing in short, ragged breaths. She had half expected him to disregard her request, and stay despite her refusal, but he had left, and his doing so was now more of a concern than ever.

* * *

Lord Hartfield stood at his study room window, watching Sir Richard mount his horse and set off in the general direction his wife had taken merely a half hour earlier on her usual morning walk. He smiled knowingly and turned back to the room to face the gentleman sitting nervously on the other side of his desk. 

'Well Mr Collins…?' He looked at him with a raised eyebrow and an unnerving smile.

'You are certain she does not know who I am, that I am their cousin?' Mr Collins sat upright in the chair, he fidgeted unable to find a position he was comfortable in. He looked up at the young Lord, and found that he could never be comfortable in the presence of this man. It was something about his demeanour, and that cold gaze held within his piercing blue eyes, it was beyond mere detachment, it was a glory, a sense of pleasure almost in the art of cruelty. However, Lord Hartfield's proposal was tempting enough, but he was unsure all the same.

'No, Lady Hartfield does not know who you are, how could she? As far as the Bennet's knew a Mr Collins was to inherit Longbourn, but gave up the property and sold it to me. They never met you, the name may seem familiar, but that is all.' Lord Hartfield seating himself at his desk, and reaching down unlocked a drawer. He took out a parchment tied with red ribbon and placed it firmly on the table between them. He looked on in amusement as Collins eyed the document hungrily.

'Surely the prospect is not so very unpleasant? Fulfil the conditions I have set out for you, in accordance with my rules, and Longbourn is yours.' Lord Hartfield took up the parchment and held it in under Mr Collins gaze temptingly for a moment before placing it back in the drawer, and locking it.

'Longbourn ought to have been mine…' Mr Collins muttered in a tone he hoped was under his breath. But Lord Hartfield caught his bitter tinge and smiled widely. Leaning back in his chair he eyed Mr Collins with some incredulity.

'Surely Mr Collins you don't mean to imply that I cheated you in any way? As I recall I paid you a fair price for the place.'

Now for all Mr Collins composure he may as well have been sitting on a thousand needles, 'N-No, not at all your Lordship, I was not implying any wrongdoing …' he waved his hands and gestured disarmingly.

'I should hope not, I paid you a more than fair price considering your position at the time, and believe me I was well aware of the 'situation' you found yourself in. Surely it was I who did you the service, from what I heard at the time you were desperate for some means of finance and escape considering Lady Catherine was calling for your hanging, and not from your neck I may add.' Mr Collins crossed his legs instinctively.

'Did you not once describe Lady Catherine de Bourgh's daughter Anne as the 'brightest ornament sadly deprived from the British Court through ill health'…' Lord Hartfield laughed soundly, 'well she certainly proved too tempting a jewel for you. It was through your indiscretions with her that cost you your living at Hunsford was it not? Poor Mr Collins, as such _you_ have been deprived of the condescension of one of the noblest patronages of the land…' Lord Hartfield revelled in his mirth now, and Mr Collins' clear misery.

He got up and walked over to the side board, and seemed to occupy himself for a while with a game of chess. He removed one of the pieces from its chequered square. 'Console yourself Mr Collins, by escaping Lady Catherine's type of patronage I most heartily assure you, that you are saved from a fate infinitely more taxing than death.'

He turned back to his game, 'Lady Hartfield and I have been engaging in this game of kings as it is so often called, for the best part of our marriage, six years now. The game of kings and yet it is the queen who has the most power, she can move anywhere, sacrifice anything, and the object?' Lord Hartfield bent close over the board, utterly engrossed in the state of play. 'Simply to defeat your opponent, to fell the opposition's queen. A civilised game of war played out over geometric shapes. And like everything else with her Ladyship it is a constant battle, one _I_ intend to win…' He spoke in such an odd tone, so detached from the present that Mr Collins wondered if his Lordship even recalled he was sat there.

But Lord Hartfield did recall and turning around to face him, asked once more, 'Well Mr Collins, what do you say?'

'I have your word, once I have undertaken this 'commission'; I have your word that Longbourn will be mine?' Mr Collins spoke emphatically, what Lord Hartfield was asking of him was no small feat.

'You have my word sir, as much and as far as you care you trust it.' They shook hands, and Lord Hartfield made his way over to the window; he gazed down at the direction at which both his wife and Sir Richard had taken. He smiled once more, and holding up his hand to the light, displayed to Mr Collins the item he clutched tightly. It was one of the pieces he had removed from the chess board.

'And now Mr Collins, I think my queen is ready to sacrifice one of her knights…' he held the little horse aloft for a while before letting it drop to the floor.

* * *

It is a poor thing when the only comfort to be derived from a life is the monotonous series of events one undertakes to preserve the last threads of sanity, when the only truth and reason is found to lie in a repetitious sequence. And so that was the life for Lizzy, a monotonous series of events, a repetitious sequence that she adhered to religiously to preserve her last threads of sanity. She awoke early every morning, to the sound and sight of her maid drawing back the drapes, she washed and waited to be made ready for the day, and after breakfast she set out on her usual morning walk. On the better days she could avoid seeing her husband until very late in the day, the less pleasant days involved her having to take breakfast with him. Or worse, waking up with him lying next to her, those were the worst mornings, where she spent the rest of the day wishing she could scrub herself clean enough from the scent of him. 

She had awoken that morning, thankfully free from the presence of Philip, and to the sight of her maid opening the drapes. For a brief moment when only the maid's back was visible, she had thought that it was Sarah, she smiled briefly then, but as soon as the girl turned around, Lizzy saw it was Millicent. And her smile faded.

But here was a brief respite, a lull from the usual; Millicent Langford was certainly proving herself an oddity. Oh, she was very good at her work, it was clear she had been well trained, perhaps too well in fact, the other servants had complained the new lady's maid gave herself airs. Of that Lizzy would not know, but Millicent was certainly distant, she rarely spoke, even as she would spend a good hour dressing and making her mistresses hair perfection itself, she would sometimes barely utter a few sentences together. It seemed a unique form of restraint, and Lizzy could not help but wonder at the poor choice of spy Lord Hartfield had made in Millicent Langford. How could the girl have any secrets to communicate if she did not take to engaging her mistress in conversation, if she made no attempt to coax confidences or even form some sort of friendship?

The girl was by no means stupid, and behind those staid and unresponsive eyes, Lizzy was certain there lay a true intelligence. They could have been good friends, had Lizzy not been so very suspicious of her, but while she remained in the employ of Lord Hartfield Lizzy would never trust her. But even there was an oddity, from the first Lizzy may have been convinced Millicent Langford was another plaything for his Lordship, but the girls own strict rationality, her discipline and her regimental approach to her duties, soon poured cold water on that theory. No, there was no doubt there was something of a confidence between Lord Hartfield and this girl, she had caught them speaking low and close more than once, but it was not the sort of confidence she had first suspected. Lord Hartfield had not employed Millicent Langford because she would prove more complying than Sarah, or that she would prove an ally, no it was for something else altogether.

* * *

In days gone by Lizzy would have walked to Longbourn, nay more likely ran, but that was no more, she had not seen her mother since that fateful day Jane had taken ill, and she missed Mrs Bennet dreadfully. The inanity of conversations between mother and daughter had been a blessing, had proved a saving grace, and now the wrenching from a mother whose exuberance she had at times in her youth been embarrassed by, was proving as awful as if she were a babe snatched newly from that mothers arms. 

As it was this morning she had already found her to the very edge of the Hartfield grounds when the sound of a fast galloping horse called her attention. She stopped and looked back dreading it was Philip. She soon ascertained the noble mien belonged to another scarcely more welcome person, Sir Richard. She sighed and continued walking, even as he brought his horse to an abrupt halt close to her and dismounted. Tying the beast to a bush nearby to graze, he hurried and joined her.

Lizzy regarded him coldly, 'Well Sir Richard, it is clear to see at least one of you has survived last nights excesses, though not in time for any of you to join me for breakfast.'

'No, and I was most heartily sorry for it…' Lizzy noted the way he held a hand to his temple gingerly, she smiled more keenly now. Last nights excesses had extended and inevitably lurched towards too much drinking of wine, no doubt well after the guests had left and Lizzy had retired to bed. 'Well at least you're still suffering from it, good…'

Sir Richard returned her smile with a dazzling one of his own, 'It was an eventful evening was it not?'

Lizzy's cold stare was upon him in an instant, 'More enjoyable for some than others.'

Sir Richard sought to test the efficacy of his charm, he smiled sheepishly, 'Are you very angry with me...?' he asked pouting.

Lizzy remained unaffected, 'Very, but I suppose I must concede it was not all your doing, and though I would very much like to think it beneath his Lordship to condescend to something so petty and trivial, in truth I expected nothing better. Inviting the Netherfield lot specifically for the nefarious purpose of humiliating and exposing Mr Darcy in the presence of his sister and closest friend, I expect that was the intention all along?'

Sir Richard dug his hands deep into his coat pockets and shrugged his shoulders in that naughty schoolboy manner, he thought was so charming. It served to irk Lizzy all the more, he nodded his affirmation. 'How well you have come to know us your Ladyship.'

She laughed slightly and shook her head sadly, 'Too well I'm afraid, see how worldly I have become Sir Richard that I comprehend and anticipate so much about him.'

They walked on silently, and Lizzy was beginning to enjoy the morning sun, even in the presence of Sir Richard, but it had been a blind hope on her part that the silence would continue and he would not broach that subject she knew was weighing on his mind, ever since his arrival.

He reached out and attempted to take her hand in his own, she pulled away even as he grasped her fingers. 'You were not always so indifferent.' His voice was pained and Lizzy desperate to escape turned back suddenly and began walking quickly towards the house. He caught her about the arms, 'Lizzy stop, please…'

She struggled a while, a butterfly caught in a net, she vainly attempted to pull away even as he held her close to his chest. Her struggle was not prolonged; she relaxed and surrendered to his embrace and…his kiss.


	11. Lord Hartfields' Revenge

_A/N__Italics in this part are used to represent past events, but this is a particularly violent and painful chapter, I think the words 'emotional sadist' were used at one point when I posted this elsewhere. But if you haven't been put off by that, I hope you enjoy!_**  
**

**Part 11- 'Lord Hartfield's revenge…' **

For those moments Lizzy was kissing and being kissed by Sir Richard, the years folded back, and suddenly they were back to a time four years ago, when she was making this very same mistake.

_She remembered the first time she had seen him, Lord Hartfield had introduced them her first season in London, she had been young and afraid. And she had thought it a little strange at first, that her husband should describe a man so much older as his closest friend._

_She was newly married, had newly had the title of Lady Hartfield thrust upon her, and the London ton regarded her with a suspicion matched only by their derision. They had convinced themselves that somehow the young country chit had worked her way into old Lord Hartfield's affections, and persuaded his hand to pen the most ridiculous will ever heard of._

_Only Sir Richard was kind, and Lizzy could not forget how her heart had fluttered, when he had kissed her gloved hand in greeting. He was tall and handsome, dark haired with a broad smile. His smiling eyes had set her at ease then, and for the next two years became as close a friend to her has he was with her husband._

'No…' Lizzy pulled away, she pushed him back and tried to hold him at arm's length, but he had a strength she had forgotten. He pulled her close and held her next to his chest, his heart beating as impossibly fast as hers.

He brought up her arms and wrapped them about his shoulders. Their foreheads pressed together, he brought his hand up to touch her cheek. 'Why you didn't you come with me…?' he whispered in her ear. She considered his question and their strange history.

The London ton gradually came to accept Lizzy, for aside from her questionable lineage, they really could have no objections. Her beauty none could have really withstood and her coldness did nothing to abate their attentions. Lady Hartfield was no doubt as likely to ignore an invitation to a ball, but it was fashionable to pen one to her all the same.

The only man she could tolerate was Sir Richard Purvis, who apart from his unfortunate habit of gambling was by far the only one whose company she remotely enjoyed. It was a mixture of charm, and warm wit and something of security, a sense that he had seen more than her and done much more. And he was older, nearly old enough to be her father.

Once more conscious of her surroundings she pushed him away forcefully then, and pressed a hand to her mouth in bitter reproach. 'Stop it, stop…' She hissed at him in anger.

'Why?' He likewise grew angry, and reached for her still, 'you did not always find my touch so repulsive, nor my presence as objectionable as Philip's.' He stood in her way once again as she attempted an escape.

'It was a mistake, a horrid, wretched mistake, for which I have suffered…' As she reached up and pressed a cooling heand to her aching temple, he noticed the cuts on her hands.

Smiling grimly, he proceeded to remove the glove from his own left hand, 'For which you have suffered? He nearly killed _me_…' As he held up his hand before her face, Lizzy noted the deep, ugly scar that covered both the top and the palm of his hand.

_Even now she remembered the first time he had kissed her, truly kissed her. It had been at a dance, one of the few to which her husband had insisted they attend. She did not doubt that Philip had his eye on one fair young maiden or other. She was enough acquainted with Lord Hartfield's character after two years of marriage, to know he did nothing in life if it did not afford him some pleasure, or measure of benefit; one or the other, forever passion with a purpose, and expert calculation._

_But at least Richard would be there, and thatthere was something to look forward to. She would dance, and smile, and talk of books with him. And find something of that enjoyment so cruelly denied to a young girl, tied to a man she detested at barely fifteen years of age._

_And they had danced, and smiled and talked of books. Sir Richard had amused her by his numerous impressions of the latest ladies fashions and their preference now for overly large, ridiculous plumes. He made the most laughable expressions, imitating them as they grappled with the inevitable when their feathers wilted under the heat of the room. She laughed heartily and in doing so unwittingly drew the attention of the whole room. At just seventeen years of age , Lizzy was still yet innocent to be ignorant of the talk that surrounded her. For if the London ton liked anything more than their taste in ridiculously foppish headwear, it was the promise of scandal. Lady Hartfield it seemed in those days was spending a significant amount of time in the company of Sir Richard._

Now as she stared at his hand and wondered how she had not thought to question the presence of the scar before. She had seen it of course, but had long presumed it had been the result of some accident or other. But Philip had done that?

He met her haunted gaze with petulance, 'It seems we share even the scars…'

'No…' she shook her head, 'He had nearly killed you, but what he did to me. I have long since wished to be dead... the horror, the baseness of his cruelty you could not begin to understand…'

_Lizzy had been startled at first, the sensation of his lips pressed tightly, passionately against hers, his whiskers tickling her cheek. He broke away from her at last, and looked deeply at her for some response, he was not disappointed. Once over the initial shock, she reached out and kissed him again._

_The heat in the ballroom had affected her as well as the feathers of the ladies headdresses; she found the air stifling and the atmosphere, the raucous laughter and the insipid talk rancid. She had made her escape through an open door from the side of the house, and had slipped out unnoticed. She had been leaning against the wall, in the darkened area under a balcony, far away from prying eyes. It was there that he had happened upon her, and not by accident, he had followed her._

_Sir Richard studied her awhile, as if seeking resolve; taking her hand he planted a gentle kiss on her palm, and another on her wrist, and another higher still. He worked his way gently along the length of her bare inner arm, clearly delighting in the little sighs that escaped her every time his lips met her tender flesh._

_And then he had kissed her, not in the polite way, the way of friends, a chaste brush of lips on a gloved hand. No, he kissed her as a lover, an all-consuming and hungry crush of lips, and not at least in the honourable manner of a married woman and single man._

_And then Lizzy had kissed him, feeling here it was at last, knowing what it was to kiss and be kissed. Here was true affection at last, a man who clearly adored her, unafraid and unashamed, kind and gentle. Above all else, gentle. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, and his hands braced themselves at either side of her on the wall, his body pressed against hers. He bestowed gentle kisses along her neck, and as he did so Lizzy for the first time in her life heard a man tell her that he loved her. Philip had never said it, more to the point she had not and would not ever want him to. Her body stiffened at the words, but she didn't reply in kind, didn't state that she loved him as well. She could not say it, because it was not true. She did not love him, oh she was fond of him, and not entirely indifferent, but it was not love._

_Her heart had become used to more practical sentiments and feelings; her judgement was not clouded by feverish passion. She could think and feel clearly enough, and her heart, sadly cold even then, instead of seeing a man hopelessly devoted and remarkably tender, saw an escape, a means to an end. She wrapped her arms tightly about his neck, and stared distantly into the cool night air._

'This was not meant to be my life.' Lizzy broke through the current heavy silence that hung between them. She looked at him and shook her head sadly, her eyes glistening with tears she fought to contain. 'All my dreams, the hopes, all those expectations in my youth…not once could I have suspected there was an existence to be had yet so wretched.' Sir Richard had replaced his glove and reached out to take her hands once more. She held them out of his reach, and chose instead to make clenched fists of them, held tightly by her side.

She studied the ground as she spoke, 'You cannot know what it is to be...' her voice faltered ever so slightly, 'to be trapped like this. To be part of an arrangement, a condition…a decree in a law.' She began to pace now, a few feet one way and then the other. 'Even now, I cannot comprehend how it is I have come to be part of an inheritance…' She hurried up to Sir Richard now, her hands held protectively over chest, 'I hate him…' she cried out impassionedly, 'H-he is dead, and I know I ought not to, but I cannot help it, h-how could he do this to me, why would he condemn me to _this_, this wretched, miserable excuse for a life…?'

She seemed to be begging him for an answer, but he did not know what to say. What was there of comfort to be offered by him? 'Lizzy, I cannot know how to answer you, but…Oh, if only old Lord Hartfield had left such a prize for me. My dear girl I would cherish you…'

Even as he reached out and held up her chin, she angrily slapped his hand away. 'I knew you would not understand.'

No he did not understand, 'I am in earnest, if you had been destined to be my wife I would have worked hard to earn your affection. Philip cannot know how fortunate he is, had such a happy lot fallen my way…'

She smiled at him bitterly, 'I doubt you would have remained in such a happy state for very long sir, I assure I would have come to resent you as much as I do _him._'

_He had little suspected the evening would turn out so horrifically wrong, Lady Hartfield had summoned him to the estate with a note, a dispatch that had arrived at his place in London only the day before. It was a plea for some assistance advice and he the blind, trusting fool that he was, had answered. He would be at the Hartfield residence late that same night._

_Sir Richard had been busy, making preparations for Lady Hartfield's escape, it had taken precious little to convince him they ought to flee the country, in fact it had been merely a flutter of those thick eyelashes, that mischievous smile and a breathless kiss and he was away, settling his finances and securing passages and funds for their journey. It had been a fortnight since he had come away, since he had kissed her under a balcony. Two whole weeks without seeing her, but the image of her arms about his shoulders, and the heavenly scent of her as he traced the contours of her neck with his fingers and then his lips was a sensation imprinted on his mind as clearly as if she were in his arms now._

_Her note, consisting of a set of initials, E.H. and a few simple words, 'I must see you at once, something something most unexpected has happened. Come quickly', had sent him into a flurry of action. Perhaps their opportunity for flight had come earlier than expected; if that was the case he was ready to sweep her out of the house that very night._

_But it was not to be, Lord Hartfield himself was waiting on the steps when he arrived, all other lights in the grand house were extinguished save the one in his study and a room in the uppermost corner of the building. Philip smiled at him as he alighted from the carriage, and as he shook his hand warmly Richard thought quickly and offered the excuse that he had been on his way to a matter of business in the North, when he had thought to call on the Hartfields. He apologised profusely for the late hour, and was all __acquiescence and remorse, but he was certain Philip believed him._

_They had of course been careful; nothing that could impart or give the impression of anything more than friendly partiality towards Lady Hartfield escaped him those two weeks before he had departed. He could not have suspected that Philip had any knowledge of it at all._

_Philip's smiles as he ushered him into his study, served to reassure him all the more. So much so, he had not thought to question the fact that Lord Hartfield had been stood on the steps as he had arrived, waiting, expecting almost. Nor did it strike him as odd that almost no-one else was about, even at this late hour, his Lordship's valet ought to have been on hand at least to attend to him. But there was no one, no other sign of life save that light at the top of the house. Stranger still, a decanter of wine and two glasses awaited him; he noted their presence along with a newly opened pile of correspondence. Lord Hartfield gestured him towards the empty chair._

_He poured the wine, and handing him a glass sat down opposite him. 'We've been worried about you Richard…' he began in the strangest voice._

_Sir Richard looked up from his glass, understandably puzzled, 'I can't understand who you mean Philip, why would you be worried about me?'_

_Lord Hartfield smiled and laughed slightly, 'your behaviour of late, you've seemed distracted. You left in such a hurry last fortnight that we were sure you had taken ill.' He placed particular emphasis on that word. 'But other notions have since come to light, you are ill are you not?' he didn't wait for him to answer. 'But not the sort of illness a doctor can cure…, you are lovesick! Aren't you old friend?'_

_Richard barely knew what to say, he gathered the little composure he had and attempted to laugh the accusation off. But Lord Hartfield was adamant. 'No…no, this will not do, I have known you too long Richard. There is a woman who has brought about these changes in you, surely you cannot deny it. Sir Richard Purvis, the celebrated gamester has had little stomach for cards, has been distracted, pining away almost…all the symptoms of a man in love.'_

_Lord Hartfield paused and leaned forward, 'Yes, a man hopelessly in love, consumed with a foolish passion…' and suddenly his expression changed, '…a man in love with MY WIFE!' And then it happened, before Richard had even time to blink, Lord Hartfield had used the letter opener to stake his hand to the table._

_Sir Richard could at first only stare numbly at the knife that appeared to be impaled in the back of his hand, could only watch in open mouthed wonderment as it shook slightly, an effect of the force with which Philip had plunged it downwards. The blade held him there, its beautiful ivory handle glinting in the candlelight, taunting him almost._

_And then the pain had come, and he screamed in agony and abject horror. And there sat Lord Hartfield calm, collected and… smiling almost. Sir Richard gasped in pain, and reached out gingerly to remove the implement. Philip fingers folded around the handle before he had even stretched midway, he held the blade there, twisted it ever so slightly, and then in one clean jerk pulled it free. Sir Richard screamed once more._

_Now holding the blade upwards, Lord Hartfield stared at it, morbidly fascinated, watching the blood as it found its way down the cold steel and stained the hilt, red running into white…_

_'I trusted you Richard, I trusted you with her…' he got up and walked around the table to wear Sir Richard sat. He regarded him disdainfully as he sat whimpering and clutching his hand. Philip knelt beside him, he held the knife before Richard's face, and then proceeded to wipe the blade clean on the injured man's cheek and coat. Richard felt the warm sticky liquid smeared on his face and fought valiantly against the blackness overwhelming him. His wound was oozing, blood poured out despite his best efforts; his shirt into which he pressed his hand was beginning to be soaked._

_'She doesn't love you,' he managed to rasp at last. His voice, his teeth shook as the shock and pain of so sudden and violent an attack was rendering him cold. Lord Hartfield tilted his head to one side and eyed him curiously before laughing, laughing out loud._

_'Do you think me a fool? Of course she does not love me, she would not have attempted so desperate, so dangerous a measure at escape had she felt anything, even something approaching indifference.' Lord Hartfield stopped smiling and regarded him with sudden understanding._

_'Oh, you think she loves you?' he shook his head, 'Poor Richard, my God, you really are a fool. She has used you, dear friend; she used you to secure her release. You are nothing more than a means to an end…'_

_'N-No…' Richard disagreed feebly. Lord Hartfield's words cut as deep as the knife, 'Yes. I know her better than anyone, whatever she may have said to you, all her pretty words and ways, it was all as the situation, as need demanded, she does not care for you. She has grown too much like me, expertly calculating, planning, and never passion without a purpose…'_

He shuddered in pain even at the memory, 'I loved you, why didn't you come with me?' Sir Richard had one hand on her arm still.

'You did not love me, you loved the fact that I was young, that I was married, and that I ought to have been unattainable.' She pulled her arm free from his grasp. There was little emotion now, her impassioned plea for understanding was forgotten, and she was Lady Hartfield once more. 'You always were fond of gambling, Sir Richard.'

And there it was, the conformation of every suspicion Sir Richard had tried these past four years to put aside. Philip's words on that night had haunted him, could he truly have been so blind as to not see that a seventeen year old girl had been using him for her own ends? Was it her age that had prevented him from seeing it and her in the truest light? Or, was it that he truly had been hopelessly in love with her?

Could he face knowing, would it not be more advantageous to his sanity and health if he chose to remain in ignorance? But no, as she had said, he dearly loved a gamble. 'Philip was speaking truthfully then, you were using me? If you had come, would you have stayed with me?'

She looked at him, he thought he saw the slightest flinch, no; she only shook her head and looked away. 'No… I would not have stayed, forgive me...' her voice shook slightly before steadying once more. 'Forgive me but I do not wish to be importuned any further on this matter.'

_Sir Richard leaned heavily on Philip as the latter helped him to struggle towards the carriage waiting outside. The coachman climbed down and regarded Sir Richard's clear distress with some suspicion. The older man was disturbingly pale; the blood seemed to have drained from his face. His unnatural paleness was a stark contrast to the dark night._

_'Sir Richard has had an accident; he will find a doctor awaiting him at the Bulberry Inn at Meryton. Mention my name at the door; they will have a room secured for him.' Lord Hartfield offered no further details and the coachman found he was not inclined to press for them. Lord Hartfield pushed Sir Richard roughly into the carriage, and before closing the door climbed in after him. He propped him up against the opposite side of the carriage, and pressed a hand against Sir Richard's chest where he nursed his injury. Sir Richard groaned in agony, his ghostly pale face grew taut and his jaw tightened._

_'Now listen to me… old friend, if you ever so much as think of looking at my wife in that way again, I will gladly tie you to the wheels of this carriage and drive you the length and breadth of the country in that manner. Do you understand?'_

_It seemed ridiculous to think Sir Richard had even heard let alone understood him, the man was fading fast. Philip reached up and taking a hold of Sir Richard's thick hair moved his head up and down in agreement for him. 'Good!' he exclaimed cheerily, before stepping out of the carriage and facing the bemused expressions of the livery._

_'Well, what are you waiting for?' he barked the order, and within half a second the carriage was gone. Philip turned back to the house and the single solitary light in the upper window. He smiled grimly._

Yet for all Philip had said that evening it had taken until this moment for Sir Richard to understand the full impact of his words.

'No!' Sir Richard followed her as she walked quickly away; taking her forcefully by the arm he turned her around to face him. 'I can't, please Lizzy; I can't believe you didn't care for me at all…'

She smiled slightly, 'You're a sweet man Richard, and I wanted to. Believe me, lying to you was the hardest part…' she touched his cheek and smiled oddly, 'How I must disappoint you…'

He stepped back from her in utter disgust, with her, and himself for being such a fool. 'Philip was right; you are too much like him, all that I knew about you has proven itself …false, what a simpleton I have been. You do not require a rescue from him; I do not believe you ever did.' He spoke with bitterness; Lizzy shook her head fervently denying it as she recalled what happened once Philip had had turned his attentions to her.

_She had sat quiet and still at the foot of the bed, her head ached acutely and she rested it against one of the carved heavy oak bedposts. She closed her eyes, and only opened them again at a sound at the door._

_She watched as Philip stepped inside the room and made his way to the basin of water. He poured the water carefully into the bowl and proceeded to wash his hands, his shirt and his hands were covered in blood. Still resting her head against the post and with eyes half closed she asked. 'What have you done?'_

_He carried on washing, carefully attending to one hand, and then the other. Scrubbing, carefully removing the last of it, under the nails and in between the fingers, scrubbing, washing away._

_He answered her at last, 'What I was well within my rights to do,' he turned to face her then, his hands dripping, 'don't worry I didn't kill him, though I ought to have done.' He approached her slowly, 'Poor Richard, he was quite distraught when I told him how I'd discovered your little plan, he had thought he'd been quite cunning, of course seeing you together that night under the balcony…'_

_It was Philip's hand that had forced her to pen that letter, to lure Richard. He had stood over her and dictated the few words. Just as he had bided his time, and waited to reveal his knowledge of her unfaithfulness, waited until she had begun to feel safe. The last few days had been awful, the suspense torturous, waiting and not knowing what Lord Hartfield would do next._

_It had become clear tonight, or at least Richard's part of it had, she had stood at the window and watched her husband place Richard in the carriage, had stood at the window still when Lord Hartfield looked up and met her gaze._

_He knelt in front of her, much in the same way he had knelt by Sir Richard. Only there was no menace in his voice. 'Poor Richard, he thinks you love him…' here he rested his chin in her lap and took both her hands in his, 'but we know better don't we.'_

_She pulled her hands out of his grasp, he made no attempt to hold onto her, 'It must be an absolute sort of hate, for you to risk such scandal…do you truly hate me that much?' He had taken his chin off her lap but still knelt in front of her, he took to playing with the hem of her nightdress._

_'No…' she whispered, 'I hate you more.' She spoke the words as matter of fact, and their sharpness caused Philip to look up quickly. He appeared on the verge of replying in kind, but he smiled instead and rose from the floor to sit next to her._

_He stroked her cheek, and pushed her loose hair back from her face, she turned her head aside in disgust. 'To risk such scandal, my dear Lizzy, consider what your poor mother would have said, the heartache and sorrow of a fallen daughter, and having only newly lost her beloved Mr Bennet. Two years is not any length of time…'_

_Lizzy turned to him with a scowl, at the thought that he could dare to mention so reverent a creature as her father. He smiled yet further, 'You're very beautiful when you are angry.' She raised her hand up to strike him, but he caught it in his own, and pressed it tightly, crushing the delicate fingers in his own. 'Haven't I been patient with you? And it is a patience you are sorely beginning to try.'_

_He pressed his lips to her hand, 'It would be very hard on Mrs Bennet to lose her daughter as well as her home.' She started at his words; her panic-stricken gaze met his, she shook her head, her voice unsteady, 'you wouldn't…'_

_He regarded her with a triumphant smile, 'Yes I would, you perhaps forget I hold the deeds to Longbourn, so understand this, if you leave…, they leave…' She pulled her hand forcefully from him and brought it up to her mouth, and closed her eyes tightly._

_'Duty binds you once more Lizzy, to me and to this place.' Philip reached out and placing his hands on either side of her face, turned her towards face him, 'but it need not be such an unpleasant thing.' His voice bespoke a strange attempt at tenderness, the sentiment may perhaps have even been genuine, but Lizzy was beyond reconciliation. She pushed his hands down and away. 'Duty and nothing more, there will never be anything more.'_

_And there was the light once more, the luminosity and challenge in her eyes that at once thrilled and frightened him. Philip responded in the only manner he knew, taking both her arms tightly above the wrist he pinned them behind her back. His strength she could never haved hoped to match, and in what proved a short struggle indeed she was soon lying back on the bed with Philip straddling her. His other hand he held over her neck and as he pushed her downwards, she struggled to breathe._

_She managed to free one of her hands at last, and bringing it up with all the force she could muster she slapped him squarely in the face. The surprise of the contact brought him somewhat to his senses at last, he released the pressure on her neck and Lizzy took deep, gulping breaths in blessed relief._

_Still sat atop of her, his gaze became affixed by the marks he had caused on her neck, the soreness, the tender red of pained flesh appealed to him. He lowered his hand to her nightgown, tracing a line with his fingers down the length of her leg and slipped his hand inside and underneath the cloth…_

_That night was the first time he forced himself on her, and she fought him long and hard throughout it all. Every bruise, every scratch and every mark he gave her she repaid in kind, until they both lay battered and bruised. But inevitably he healed faster and as much as he had been hurting her a mere half hour before, Lizzy found him then applying cool water to her cuts and washing the blood away from where he had forced himself on her. And she was at once all too tired, hurt and spent to fight him anymore._

_And that was how it went on for the best part of a week. That room became her prison; Philip forbade the servants or anyone else from attending to her. Only he entered the room, bringing barely enough food to sustain her and nothing more. And he would force himself on her, and though each time Lizzy fought less, until by the end she did not fight at all, in her heart it always felt a violation, it always felt like rape._

_He would hurt her and then heal her, at once her antagonist and her saviour. It was all as he had planned, by the end of the week she was dependant entirely upon him. And Lord Hartfield was triumphant, for however short a duration it proved that defiant light in Lady Hartfield's eyes __had dimmed._

Lizzy _had _required a rescue, but the likes of Sir Richard Purvis were not capable of providing it. 'I am sorry, it was never my intention to have you believe you were in love.'

Sir Richard scowled at her, 'As if such a thing could very well be helped, it was exactly your intention, and you sorely underestimate your talents Lady Hartfield.'

She grew impatient with him, 'As I recall you were not so very heartbroken, you married Miss Anne Leland within the year.'

Sir Richard shook his head sadly, 'what choice was there, I had debts and expenses, besides there seemed little hope that I would see you again.'

Lord Hartfield had only recently rekindled their friendship; the Hartfields had of course seen the Purvis' in London, societies habit of generally moving in the same circles meant the circumstance could not be avoided, but it was only this year that Lord Hartfield had extended an invite for Sir Richard to accompany him back to Hartfield.

Lizzy smiled callously at him, 'choices?' she repeated with some incredulity, 'the Sir Richard's and the Lord Hartfield's of this world have all the choices, it is the Elizabeth Bennet's that are cruelly denied them. I did not and I do not love you, I made do as needs dictated, but believe me I have paid for my mistake, and I have learnt to accept my lot and… not to hope.'

And with that final word she walked away from him, without looking back, without so much as shedding a tear.


	12. What Once Was

**Part 12-'What Once Was...'**

Lord Hartfield was stood facing the window when Lizzy had made her way back home. As she walked past the open door of his study, she noted him stood stock still with his hands folded behind his back.

His head lifted slightly as he heard her quick step outside his door, and as he shifted his stance, Lizzy watched him intently. He ignored her presence and she turned to move away. It was then she saw the shifted positions of the pieces on the chess board. She peered more closely and taking a tentative step forward made her way to the game. She nodded and smiled coldly as she realised the knight piece was missing.

He knew, of course he knew. She wondered then if he had even subtly hinted to Sir Richard that Lady Hartfield had gone out for her usual morning walk.

She sighed deeply as she contemplated the next logical move, 'I tire of this game my Lord…'

'Surely you would not wish to concede now, not when we are so close to an end?'

He was behind her and talking over her shoulder before she was even aware he had moved from his place at the window.

'An end…?' she repeated disbelievingly. He nodded, looking over her shoulder still.

Lizzy reached towards the board and moved her piece. Lord Hartfield watching closely smiled first and then chuckled. She had moved the bishop in a line of defence.

'Divine intervention…how, 'resourceful' of you my girl…' He left the room then. Lizzy sighed tiredly and watched him go.

* * *

Darcy sat in the same seat he had occupied most of that night, passing a tired hand over his aching temple he leaned back and stretched. 

He stared at the facts and figures in front of him and watched them merge into one senseless blur. It would have been useless for him to try and get to sleep that night, and so he had not even tried. Choosing instead to bury himself in paperwork, he had spent the night balancing and crossing out numbers.

Bingley had often called him out on that habit of his, of hiding in mountains of numbers and names whenever he felt the world was intruding too much. And he was right, it was exactly what Darcy did, deadening himself to sensations, choosing instead to find some sort of absolution, the fulfilment of an aching need in the cold abstract of balancing sheets.

And he wanted to deaden himself to the world today as the painful memories of what had passed the previous night rushed upon him with an unremitting and merciless haste.

Marguerite, he had not thought about her in so long, yet once more he had to consider how others would see his shameful connection with her.

For his own part he had never considered it to be anything so very ill, he had been young, and he had indeed cared for her. Perhaps not to the point of ever contemplating matrimony, but the sentiments existing between them had not been merely ones of lust and desire. They were something akin to a lingering affection and fond memories, it was not a relation to be sanctioned by any church but still his connection to Marguerite had rivalled a deep companionship.

Still there was one person in the world whom he could not bear to think so ill of him, Lady Hartfield. Her look of abject horror at such a lurid revelation haunted him, so much so that he had come back to Netherfield to lock his bedroom door and promptly bury himself in the papers, seeking to soothe an ache he did not think would ever ease.

* * *

To say that breakfast was a miserable affair for the Netherfield household would be to sorely underestimate the despondent state into which almost all the occupants had fallen. Bingley was still anxious and uneasy for his friend, and equally so for Darcy's sister. Georgiana was looking pale and drawn and Bingley was sure her night would no doubt have been as restless as her brother's.They say the loss of faith in those one loves is equivalent to losing a limb, as sudden, as painful and as absolute. And for someone who had been as close to her brother as Georgiana had been it was all of this and so much more. She had relied on her brother's sense and believed wholly in his judgement by the measure equal to a higher law. But now for the first time in her life that implicit trust was being called into question. 

Bingley knew something of Darcy's habits; a lifelong friendship had taught him as much, he knew given last evening's horrendous events Darcy would have buried himself in mountains of paperwork, the last bastion for a troubled mind.

Caroline was equally out of sorts, not out of concern for either of the Darcy's but because Sir Richard had not paid her the attention she felt she so richly deserved. Her appearance at the dinner in her orange dress had been she believed something close to perfection. She had even shown off her figure to its best advantage as she had taken turns in walking about the room, but it was to no avail. Sir Richard had eyes that evening only for Lady Hartfield.

Perhaps sadly the only person for whom such disquieting misery had become the norm was Mrs Louisa Hurst. The poor woman was one of those afflicted with the all too common disease of realisation being a much delayed thing. Rather surreptitiously and perhaps cruelly it was a realisation that dawned upon the waking of every morning eve. Whereupon she would alight upon the sight of Mr Hurst and become painfully aware of the dull monotony that her married life had become, and then she would be forced to sigh loudly and exclaim what fools we all are when we fall in love.

For she had loved Mr Hurst, he had not always been this overweight, slothful semblance of a man too fond of a drink and rich foods. No indeed, once upon a not too distant past he had been quite handsome, but Louisa could only conclude that marriage must make a man lax in his general habits. That once one was assured of a spouse, no further effort was needed, for none ought to be expounded or demanded, a man with more wealth than sense such as Mr Hurst could see a wife in a comfortable living, which was all that ought to ever be asked. And as far as Mr Hurst was concerned Mrs Hurst was comfortable.

Poor Louisa Hurst, she was by far the superior of the two Bingley sisters, in judgement when she was allowed to exercise it, sense and feeling when it behove her to offer it. But being born into a world that celebrated silliness and caprice society demanded no more of her than she realise how fortunate she was in securing a husband perfectly able to ensure she was comfortable.

* * *

Perhaps the only thing capable of bringing most of the Netherfield lot out of their self effacing misery was a visit ironically from Lady Hartfield. Never mind it was from an evening wrought there that had changed lives and views, she sent her card detailing that both herself and her sister Miss Jane Bennet would be calling on the ladies of the house later that day. It was an eagerly awaited visit, Bingley would be able to see the woman he loved again having missed her company at the dinner, Darcy could perhaps discern how far Lady Hartfield's opinion of him had fallen and Georgiana, well she would have something to distract her thoughts from her brother and his past. 

Caroline was indifferent, though it did offer something to gloat about in her letters to her friends, and for Mrs Hurst it was the opportunity to revel in the fact that someone was more unhappy in a marriage than herself.

And so it came to pass that by mid-morning upon Lady Hartfield's suggestion the disparate group were walking about the ample Netherfield grounds. It had been necessary to venture out doors the atmosphere in the drawing room had been oppressive. Lady Hartfield had proposed the visit to Netherfield a suggestion to which Jane had readily acquiesced, principally to see Georgiana; she had not been able to think of what the poor girl had suffered at the dinner party without some twinge of guilt.

Her supposition that Miss Darcy would not be left unaffected were wholly correct, the shift in her was slight but noticeable. If she was shy before, she was positively reticent now. And it was towards her brother this reservation was aimed, she did not look at him once, Lady Hartfield sat next to her on the chaise was offered all the attention from her; but towards Darcy she would not look.

And in turn Darcy could not look at Lady Hartfield, at least not at the present; he could not meet her gaze without the most telling blush, apart from the necessary greeting at her arrival where, believing he had seen the tell-tale signs of accusation he had turned away to stare sullenly out of the window and had remained there since.

Bingley was the only one for whom the situation was anything approaching pleasant, he stood by the fireplace with Jane and had neither eyes nor words for anyone else.

Stepping out had been an inspired notion, the warm sunshine was invigorating, they walked in two sets of lines, Georgiana, Caroline and Mrs Hurst ahead, Bingley, Jane behind along with Darcy and Lizzy. But as they entered an avenue that permitted only three Darcy had long formed a resolution which he silently communicated to Bingley. Thankfully the other gentleman understood completely, he quickened his pace slightly and took Jane along with him. She looked back once, and catching Mr Darcy's pleading smile walked willingly with Bingley. Calling out to his sister Louisa to join them, to act as chaperone and ensure all appeared right, he deliberately allowed Darcy and Lady Hartfield to lag behind. His friend had words to communicate to Lady Hartfield; Bingley was determined to ensure it would happen.

Lady Hartfield for her part was completely oblivious to the men's actions, normally remarkably astute she had become caught up in watching the flight of a butterfly; smiling beautifully she was caught completely off-guard when she found herself addressed by Mr Darcy, and Mr Darcy alone. She looked at him and around him quizzically, momentarily confounded by their lack of company.

'I was very fond of her; I believed the feeling was mutual…' Lizzy looked up at him, shaking her head she began to walk again. Being left alone with Mr Darcy was not conducive to a very innocent outcome; she remembered the last time they had been alone.

But he grasped her hand, slightly tugging it, asking…begging her to stop. She pulled her hand out of his grasp and held it closely to her side.

'You were fond of her Mr Darcy, and she of you? And yet you did not take the subsequent steps so incumbent on two young people so very _fond_ of each other…Mr Darcy you did not marry her.' She smiled coolly at him.

Darcy shrugged and searched for words, 'Marriage was out of the question, I had yet to make my way in the world, and we both knew a union of that sort was impossible, we had an arrangement.'

Lizzy scoffed and turned away, 'I am well aware Mr Darcy of the sort of arrangement that subsists between wealthy young men and women the like of whom do not demand and do not have expectations.' He was before her in an instant.

'There was an understanding, and I did care for her deeply, but unbeknownst to me her 'understanding' stretched beyond merely me…' Lizzy looked closely at him and smiled slightly, her tone softened. She could easily discern Darcy as a young man about town taken in by a woman who would have thoroughly beguiled him into being prevented from seeing what she truly was.

'Careful Mr Darcy, that speech betrays something of bitterness; tell me, did she break your heart?' Darcy absolutely started at first, could she have known how close she had mirrored his own thoughts or Jane's words. '_She will break your heart.'_

Darcy sighed and shook his head, 'No, she did not break it, though perhaps she may have bruised it a little.'

'A bruise or a break Mr Darcy, surely where such a precious organ is concerned it is one and the same?' She was barely whispering now. Darcy stepped closer to her. 'No, you see a salve will do very well for a bruise, but for a broken heart…'

She didn't let him finish, his proximity was unnerving her, 'Perhaps…'

But Darcy persisted, 'She could never have broken my heart, because she never touched it, not truly, not as _you _ have.'

She drew herself up angrily at his words, her eyes meeting his coldly, 'Why do you choose to tell me this Mr Darcy? Why seek to explain yourself to me?'

Suddenly leaning in close he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, 'You know, you _must _know…'


	13. The Merit And Misery Of Circumstances

_A/N: Hey there! Yes I know it's been a while since the last update, so apologies. I am working to get this story finished so I can exercise some of the plot-bunnies running around my head with some new stories, and work on ongoing fanfics as well. I'm hoping posting will become a regular thing again, but I can't promise anything. Meanwhile thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy._**  
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* * *

**Part 13- 'The Merit And Misery Of Circumstances….'**

'_We are all the victims of circumstance are we not Mr Darcy?'_

He recounted her words as he walked through the thick grove. There was one thing to be said for the country with and that was all the time and freedom it allowed for thought. The city was always busy, the noise of people, of machines, business and energy, movement and a constant din. Always the noise, there was never a moment, never a semblance of openness, of…fresh air.

However had he been there still, amid its restrictions confined and chained to its factories, subject to the constant noise and at the mercy of its choking, oppressive air he still did not doubt he would have borne it better than this. Her words, reminiscent of and akin to everything else she did or said haunted him.

'_Victims of unwavering, unforgiving circumstance...' _ Darcy swished the stick he carried back and forth across the bushes viciously cutting at the leaves as he went. Every stroke harder and faster more brutal than the last, he lay a path of destruction as he went. It was his anger that drove his arm, anger and disappointment and the inevitability of it all.

His avowed intention that morning had been to explain himself to her, to offer some sort of excuse that he hoped would render him a little less reprehensible in her eyes, but it had ended in a foolish and clumsy declaration of love.

'Stupid….stupid man…!' That warranted a particularly vicious snipe so intent in force that it snapped the stick in two. Darcy looked at it disdainfully before tossing it aside into the dense undergrowth. He passed a tired hand through his hair and over his face, and recalled her reaction to his words with painful precise clarity.

'_I don't understand….' Darcy was still stood before her; she must know what he had meant, and exactly why he had sought to explain himself to her. He loved her, wholly completely to the point that to have her think ill of him was to leave him restless. _

_But her reply confounded him._

_She smiled slightly at him before stepping around him and walking forwards, and it seemed as if she had not understood his declaration at all. Stopping she spoke over her shoulder._

'_What did you expect of me Mr Darcy?' Her smile was gone and she looked at him coldly, it was enough for him to know that her next words would cut him to the core. 'I am a wife Mr Darcy, the mistress of a home, a daughter and a sister and I have duties to each. Do you think I would abandon those sensibilities to pursue so reckless a notion as you propose?'_

_Darcy struggled to speak, this was becoming the painful truth, he would expose his heart to her and each time it was a mistake as wretched as the knife she used to cut him through and through._

'_And of course,' he approached her tenderly, 'you would never put sentiment before duty, too foolish a notion is it not?'_

_His words tinged with bitterness and racked with pain momentarily unnerved her, her voice and her expression softened, 'Mr Darcy isn't there a saying that 'we are not the masters of our misfortune,' she turned to face him once more, 'you could not have expected more surely?'_

_She stepped closer to him, 'I wish you would not resent me for this Mr Darcy.' She held out her hand for him to take, he complied dutifully. Taking her hand in his he gently turned it over and kissed her palm. She smiled sadly at him, 'I would loathe losing your friendship Mr Darcy, since you are the one man whose opinions are widely regarded to be more unpopular than mine!'_

_She laughed quietly then, but it was a poor sort of laugh, one they both knew contained no mirth but a sad attempt at humour. She sighed deeply, 'Mr Darcy I am aware of your situation and your history as you are no doubt by now well acquainted with mine, do you understand now?'_

_He could only nod his reply, she smiled once more, 'Good, I do enjoy your company Mr Darcy, and that of your sister's, besides I do not doubt this inclination will soon pass, how could you hold me in affection Mr Darcy, you know next to nothing of me!'_

_She took her place next to him then and they began walking again towards the others. 'I would advise you Mr Darcy to write a sonnet or two upon the matter, and you will see that it will soon put all away.'_

_H e recognised her dismissive humour and though it pained him she had made it abundantly clear. She had as much placed the question before, would only friendship suffice? Because where Lady Hartfield was concerned there never could anything more. _

_A friendship and nothing else, no it could never be enough, but Darcy had experience in this matter. That of dismissing hopes and dreams, playing down ambition and learning to suffice, and how well he had learnt and how well he buried the bitter disappointment now. For even as he felt the coldness of hopes dashed and long buried aches surface, he smiled at her and managed a civil reply to her observation._

'_You refer to poetry?' he asked her, 'strange I had taught it a generally adapted truth that poetry is the food of love.' Darcy spoke with the same dismissive humour she had adopted._

'_No, not all Mr Darcy, a good healthy, stout love will be unaffected of course as everything nourishes what is strong already, __ one good sonnet will starve a thin sort inclination away entirely__...many an affection has been overcome in the same away.'_

_It pained him that she could dismiss his affection so readily, so easily and his reply was every bit as bitter as he intended, 'Then I must congratulate the one who discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love and put pen to paper directly.'_

_They walked quickly and were soon in the company of the others. Lady Hartfield and Jane took their leave soon after. Yes, he understood perfectly, she could and would never be his, and it was a fact he ought to resign himself to. They were victims of circumstance, unforgiving, unrelenting…painful circumstance._

* * *

Darcy had left the Netherfield lot soon after Lady Hartfield's departure choosing to avoid Miss Bingley's observations on Lady Hartfield's attire and her complexion, or lack of it and instead take a long walk. He had hoped the cool air would do something to clear his frustrations; it had done nothing of the sort.

His return to the estate was marked with as clear anger as he had left, his brow furrowed and features hardened it was a good while before he paid heed to the sound of happy conversation and laughter coming from the vast drawing room. He stopped at the closed door to listen awhile; amongst the voices he was familiar with was one that was relatively new.

New it may have been but to Darcy it was certainly most unwelcome, Lord Chaston. His anger not abated one bit, Darcy threw open the door and entered, his sudden appearance causing almost all to be startled.

Lord Chaston was sat close to Georgiana at the table, Caroline making their third, at times joining in their conversation. She offered him a significant smile Darcy's gaze turned towards where they sat.

Bingley astute enough to recognise the look of dark fury crossing his friend's brow noted the brusque manner with which he addressed the young Lord's appearance. Having by now realised Darcy's conversation with Lady Hartfield had not gone well, he made his way to Darcy's side and steered him towards the fireplace where he had been stood.

'Darcy,' he whispered in a tone, 'I rely on your judgment and know you will be sensible about this. His appearance here cannot be helped, whatever you may think of him, you know very well I could not have turned him away at the door.'

Darcy looked towards Bingley the urgent pleading in his words eventually sought to abate his anger. He sighed deeply, 'No, of course you are right. It is your house Bingley; I am after all only a guest.'

The bitter tone was not lost on Bingley, and a less feeling and less generous man would have called Darcy out over his unfounded resentment but Bingley familiar with his closest friend's nature knew that Darcy's words were a result of the anger from the moment.

It would pass and he would apologise, sincerely and remorsefully, Bingley need not add to his mortification he would feel later by some equally rash words offered now.

Lord Chaston sensible to the feeling of the room once Darcy had arrived arose to take his leave soon after the formers arrival. Aside from a few curt glances Darcy had barely acknowledged his presence; the air grew gloom and melancholy; despite the efforts of one of the party. The one aspect he had least expected such endeavours to be forthcoming and consequently one who surprised him the most.

Georgiana Darcy, sweet quiet, shy Georgiana Darcy took pains to carry the conversation forward. She, as acutely aware as he was of her brother's disapproval smiled and spoke more in that short half hour he remained after her brother's arrival than he had ever heard her speak before.

Fully aware that it was perhaps more for her brother's than his benefit, Lord Chaston enjoyed her attention all the same. Georgiana was a pretty little thing, all sweetness and wit, and all was safe he knew he was in no danger, given the misfortune of her circumstances and inferiority of her connections, Georgiana Darcy would not catch him. But as his friend Lord Hartfield had taught him on many an occasion there was no harm in finding enjoyment in pleasant company, and if it should lead to anything more, so much the better.

And Miss Darcy was certainly showing herself to be more complying than he could have ever imagined.


	14. Let Your Hands Be My Saving Grace

_A/N: I know what you're thinking...cough, horror, holy mother of….! She updates! I'm surprised you haven't abandoned this story in droves, LOL I can only offer my profuse apologies and endeavour to do better.  
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_I love all your reviews; they're such fun to read! And I have to admit I'm pretty impressed with the various methods of torture and punishment you've come up with for the vile Lord Hartfield. _

_Though Kika57's curse that 'he be infested by the fleas of a thousand camels in the groin and armpits' has to be my favourite so far! LOL, remind me never to get on the wrong side of you lot!_

**Part 14- 'Let Your Hands Be My Saving Grace…'**

As Bingley had rightly predicted, Darcy's anger gradually abated and aware now of the need to speak to his sister he sought her out. She sat in the domed temple at the far end of the Netherfield estate.

He studied her quiet, resolute air as she sat on the stone seat; her head bent low, her brow furrowed as she discounted all outside distractions and buried her head resolutely engrossed in the book she was reading. He realised with a quiet smile how truly similar they were, he found comfort in balancing books, crossing out numbers and dealing with the cold factual distinction that resided in sums.

Georgiana was the same, she found comfort in the books she read, words and ideas that transported her to another place, far away from the misery of their shared past. Far away from the cold truth, a brother who had given her reason to be disappointed.

Her disgust with him he could not have doubted, nor could he truly have found reason to blame, the sort of man she had heard about at the Hartfield dining table had been precisely the kind of man he had warned her about. Precisely the sort of man he taught her over the years to be wary of, the sort of man he had taught her deserved nothing but the sharpest of her discontent.

And now, now to her he was that sort of man. He owed her an explanation, a truth an answer to all the questions he knew must be hounding her every thought.

He could not ignore how tired he was, how indignant of the fact that such an explanation was required, it was the precisely the thing he had hoped to avoid, that his past would be remained buried, his shame never revealed, to his sister at least.

After the death of their parents he was forced to suffice as both parents, to offer the kindness and understanding of a mother, and the guidance and example of a father. The duties of both fell upon his shoulders; they had both been so young. The removal of their parents had come through a brutal, unbidden force, a travesty that had swept through their lives, a dark cloud settling on both their hearts.

But as steeped as he was in the bitterness, the unfair circumstance of it all, she had been the light, little Georgiana, forced to be wiser than her short years, proving herself to be more than just a sister to him.

It was she, with her lithe pale hands that held tightly onto his at the funeral, her warm hands that had braced his shoulders as they had sagged heavy from the weight from all the responsibility that had been thrust upon him. Her strong hands that held on as they had been forced from their home, held on as they had watched their livelihood burnt to the ground, held on in those nights when he wept openly, when the fire that had burned down the mill had burned away part of his soul.

Georgiana's hands, warm, steady, healing, the hands of a sister, the hands of a saviour, his saving grace.

Now the hands that held tightly to the pages of a book, held tight ignoring the presence of her brother even as he stood before her. He had recognised her pointed conversations with Lord Chaston had been her attempt to rile him, her thinly veiled pointed barbs of revenge, knowing he would disapprove she had pushed all the more.

And it made his heart ache, his sorely tried heart, for so long finding comfort in the cold objectivity of numbers and sums, and now forced to realise that he stood to lose another he loved. He loved Lady Hartfield, but it was not enough, and he loved Georgiana, more than the idea of life itself, but to lose her as well was too much, too much to be borne.

He sat down heavily beside her, her golden tufts of hair caught slightly in the breeze but she kept firmly to the pages of her book. For so long he had dulled himself to sensations, believing that in feeling too much there was only disappointment, there was bitterness and loss.

And oh, how he felt it now, how he wished he could dull himself to sensations now, to cut away that part of him that felt this so acutely, the misery from the loss of a vain love, the disappointment that held fast in the tear stained eyes of a beloved sister.

She turned slightly, and he sighed, passing an aching hand through his hair, he spoke softly. 'Georgiana do you wish to punish me?' she turned her head away.

He carried on all the same, he would talk to her back if need be, but she would listen. 'Do you remember that time I pressed you to go outside with me, you couldn't have been more than six years old, it had been raining the day before but I goaded you into climbing that hill behind the factory.'

He leaned back in the seat, she kept her place, Darcy smiled slightly at the memory, 'The ground was slippery underfoot and you fell in the mud. You cried, do you remember, you cried and came to me because the dress was new and you were afraid that mother would be angry.'

Her shoulders tightened and he saw her body stiffen, she recalled the event perfectly. 'Do you remember Georgiana; I took the blame by saying that it was I that had pushed you. You didn't want me to lie but I did it anyway because I was worried for you.'

Georgiana turned to look at him at last, her smile one of bitter reproach, 'I can't help but feel brother that this charming story has a purpose.' Her tone was deliberately biting and sarcastic, and though it caused him anger he chose to ignore it.

He leaned forward, 'I wanted to spare you, I thought you too young, too innocent, too much of a child to suffer any anger or reproach from a loving parent over something as petty as a dress. That is my reasoning now Georgiana, ' he moved to take her hand in his own but she pulled away, 'I wished to spare you from this, at times I still think of you as a child Georgiana, my innocent little sister.'

He sighed, 'Yes my actions were reprehensible but my concealment of them was not through any intention of deceit, but to spare you, to spare my family…'

'To spare your family?' she repeated with some disgust, 'do not pretend brother that was your first consideration, you concealed your actions because you knew how they would be perceived, and how you would be perceived, you gave no consideration to the feelings of your parents should your past ever come to light, nor did you give any consideration to the feelings of your innocent little sister.'

And with that she seemed to dismiss him, snapping her book shut she stood up to leave, but he took a hold of her wrist firmly and pulled her back down to the seat. 'You will listen to what I have to say…you WILL hear me speak!'

His tone was intentionally harsh; the memory of another dismissing his words as easily caused him to be rougher in both tone of voice and action than he had ever been with her. She smiled disdainfully at him.

'Then speak brother…speak and bring me to understand what I have this long night prayed could never be true, _speak_!' She shouted at him, and for the first time in their lives, the brother and sister found themselves at an impasse.

Belief lost, a hope betrayed and the innocuous actions of youth had come between them.

He stared at her; she had grown, beyond her years, beyond what he had been willing to admit, now, now he was forced to confront the ripples his action had caused, ripples that had travelled far and affected more than he could have ever understood.

He chose a different approach, 'What do you think of Lord Chaston, truly Georgiana what is your opinion of the man.

She chose to feign ignorance, and infuriated him all the more, 'Whatever can you mean brother, truthfully? To the extent of my knowledge I do not believe I have a precedent that requires concealment.'

She was being deliberately coy and he hated it, such games were not meant to be played, not between them.

He struggled to maintain his composure, 'You know his reputation Georgiana, surely, as reasoning prevails you must not, you cannot approve.'

She laughed outright, 'Lord Chaston is charming, well spoken and ever the high bred gentleman, whatever could there be to disapprove of?'

'Georgiana! His reputation as a gambler, and a profligate, opulent wasteful man…'

She turned to look at him a directly, her words deliberately short and cutting, 'But if we are to form an opinion on past misdemeanours and reputation than surely you would not fare well either…brother.'

He shut his eyes and resigned himself to the austerity of her words, 'I cannot say your resentment is unfounded Georgiana, I am heartily sorry that I have not been entirely truthful with you.'

He took her hands forcefully this time, forcing her to listen, 'But you know, you knew even then of the disagreements that subsisted even towards the end between father and my self. You remember, how far apart we were during those last years, what good would it have done to expose the whole? What purpose would it have served?'

'I would not have doubted you now!' She spat the words at him with a menace he had never anticipated.

He looked up sharply at her, and his world seemed to fade into black, receding into the far shadows he had once upon a time pulled it from, it was too much, it was all too much. To have lost, nay to have never had the love of Lady Hartfield, the sting of her rejection fresh in his mind still, and now, now to have gained such bitter disapproval from a dear sister. For his aching soul it was too much.

He grew at once angry and dejected; bitterness soured every one of his senses. 'It was a single mistake Georgiana, a lifetime of being your brother, your guide, a lifetime of taking it upon my self to care for you. All these years of being both parents, yet you doubt me? All the sacrifices, all the pains I have undertaken…yet _you _doubt!'

Her eyes grew wide, 'You resent it?' Her words were barely a whisper as the extent of his words sank in. 'That mama and papa died, and you were forced to take responsibility for me. You resent it?'

She repeated the pain in her voice clear, of course, she had burdened him, weighed heavy, and a responsibility he had neither cared to have nor asked for.

Darcy at once sorry, he brought her close into a crushing embrace; pressing her close to his chest he gently stroked her hair, before taking her face in both hands and gently kissing her forehead.

'No, dear girl I could never resent you, you are my sister, my darling, wise beautiful sister, I only wish I could have done so much more for you, and that I was not such a grave disappointment.'

He released her and leaned back into the seat, he was resigned and tired, oh so tired. 'I know dear Georgiana that you are too sensible a girl. I need not fear your judgement; you will not allow yourself or rationality to be clouded with regards to the likes of men such as Lord Chaston, especially through resentment of a brother and his shortcomings.'

His words broke through at last, she shook her head and pressed close to him, 'No, no I don't resent you brother, and I have never wished to hurt you, by word or deed, forgive me.'

She took both his hands in her own and kissed them, they were so cold, and she realised with alarm he was shivering. Darcy smiled gently at her, the faintest of tears brimming at his eyes.

'Don't resent me Georgiana, I beg of you, save me…save me from myself. I need you now, so very much. Take care of me…'

Georgiana wrapped her arms about him in a fierce hug, she held on tightly finally realising that a great deal was happening with him, much more than she had realised. And all at once she grew protective of him as she had want to be over the years, even when they had been young and she had been so very small, when he had towered above her, in height and stature. Still she had even then tried to protect him.

As she would do now, true he had made a mistake and it was unfair of her to carry on punishing him. And she realised why she had been so angry with him, for so long she had been wont to think him infallible, resolute and perfect.

But he was not, and yes the realisation had been painful, but now she must own that he was not perfect, he was still her brother, still trustworthy and genuine in all that mattered, but he was human, prone to the same mistakes.

And she must allow him to be subjected to the same level of objectivity and judge him in a manner that was fair to them both.

* * *

She held the book close in her hands, in between the sheets, pressed between a folded note was a small flower. She had found it tucked in between the pages of her book, and she knew at once who had put it there, Lord Chaston. 

She thought back to the conversation she had that morning with her brother, he relied on her judgement; she would not disappoint him, he trusted her to make the right decision with regards to men like Lord Chaston.

She held the flower in her hand, and looked towards the fire roaring in her room, she would make the right decision, she would not disappoint.


End file.
